


The Christmas Unicorn

by 27dragons, monobuu, tisfan



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Babysitting, Baking, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas traditions, Family, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Scrooge!Tony, Tony learns the true meaning of Christmas, family traditions, offscreen homophobic character, tired!Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:01:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21588790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/monobuu/pseuds/monobuu, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Tony doesn't begrudge anyone else their enjoyment of the holiday season; he just wants to be left out of it. He's never really seen the point. Bucky's usually all for it, but a disaster at work that forced him to cancel his plans to travel with his family have left him feeling a little curmudgeonly. The two meet and bond over their shared lack of interest in the holidays.When Tony unexpectedly finds himself taking care of a pair of kids who rather emphatically expect Christmas to beDone Right, he finds himself turning to Bucky for help.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Comments: 424
Kudos: 745
Collections: MHEA Holiday Movie Challenge 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This may honestly be the fluffiest, lowest-angst thing that we've ever written together. We started with this prompt from the [HEA Marvel's Hallmark Event](https://heamarvel.tumblr.com/post/187719986781/completepromptandbadgelist):
>
>> Prompt #6: Character A - a famous author who writes about how to stay single - is forced to look after their niece and nephew over the holidays. With the help of their Christmas-loving neighbor, Character B, they learn to find love and the Christmas spirit.
> 
> It sort of transmuted into something slightly different. 

[](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B8kfZbdEvY5WTTZ2NS1iZXZCVkxlSGszUUt4MEQyNUx4a2xF)

Bucky practically threw himself into the elevator. He was tired and angry, and about to kill Brock, whose massive screw up had meant that Bucky had to cancel his vacation plans, and work two weekends in December on top of that.

Made worse by the fact that his parents and siblings had decided to go, en masse, to Ireland for Christmas that year and visit with Grandma and her sister, Bucky’s Great Aunt Kit. And they’d be gone until mid-January, and there was no way Bucky was going to be able to go with them. He’d had to cancel his ticket and eat the cancellation fee. 

On the other hand, it did mean not doing the holidays this year. And being the oldest of seven kids and the only one without a spouse or kids of his own, (except for Rachel, but she was only eighteen) things tended to get awkward.

So, of course, there was only one other person in the car. The guy from the penthouse, who Bucky knew by face, but had yet to actually speak to, even if they did see each other in the elevators several times a week.

And there was Christmas music playing over the piped in speakers.

“Ug. Holiday music,” Bucky grumbled. “You’d think, maybe just once, they could stop starting that shit in October.” Then he bit his lip, because sometimes people actually liked listening to the same fifteen songs over and over again, and bad covers of the same fifteen songs. Some people must, otherwise, why would they play them?

The guy glanced at him, then suddenly grinned, a mischievous sort of smirk. He tucked his hand into his pants pocket, and the music suddenly... stopped.

Bucky blinked. “What-- what was that? How did you-- did you actually do that?”

The guy’s grin widened. “I did. It’s an ambient noise nullifier. Temporarily blocks sound being broadcast on a particular wavelength, specifically, the one most often used for things like elevator music and terrible department store muzak.” He pulled his hand back out of his pocket and offered it. “I’m Tony, I live upstairs.”

“Nice to meet you,” Bucky said, taking the man’s hand. His fingernails were professionally manicured and buffed, but his hands were calloused. It was an intriguing combination, especially mixed with the faintest scent of his cologne. “Bucky Barnes. Your current neighborhood curmudgeon.”

Tony glanced at Bucky’s prosthetic. He didn’t stare too long, or ask about it, which was both nice and disconcerting. Bucky was used to it being the first thing people mentioned. On the other hand -- ha! pun -- there were a lot more vets around these days wearing fancy prosthetics, and they weren’t quite so unusual.

“A pleasure,” Tony said. “Usually I’m the only Scrooge in the area. What’s your story?”

“Not much of a story, really,” Bucky said. The elevator bank of lights was glowing like a Christmas tree. Stops on at least twelve other floors on their way down. Ug. “Christmas around my family is exhausting. I’ve got four sisters, two brothers, and nineteen nieces and nephews. Plus my mom, her two sisters and assorted cousins. I’m the only single, childless schmuck in the entire lot, not counting the baby, which you can just imagine…”

“I’m not sure I can,” Tony admitted. “I’m an only child. That does sound exhausting, though. You don’t like kids?”

“Oh, no, I love kids,” Bucky said. “Would love to have a few of my own someday. And it’s not even that I don’t love the holidays, but I’ve spent the last twenty years or so wishing I could just. Not. Sometimes, you know? And this year, I get my wish. The whole Barnes clan is off to Ireland. And I’m stuck here in New York, because my co-worker, Brock, ruined a whole server cluster of client deliverables, and we’ve all got mandatory overtime until the end of the year. So, it’s got the whole Monkey’s Paw thing going. Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it.”

“Ouch,” Tony sympathized. “I hope you’re all considering appropriate ways to ‘thank’ this Brock fellow for his contribution. I mean, the whole holiday thing is awful -- this thin veneer of niceness that we spread over all our ugly for a month, increased stress and mandatory gift-giving and all that bullshit -- but having to spend it working overtime? When one of the few good things about the holiday season is time off? That’s terrible.”

“Oh, I think Brock will find himself on the top of the pink slip list next time we have layoffs,” Bucky said. It wouldn’t be personal, or Bucky’s fault, but he wouldn’t be sorry to see Brock go, either. Which is what he got for harboring a crush on his co-worker, right up until the first one-nighter after drinks and Bucky found out what a tool the guy was.

The elevator stopped and let someone else on. She glanced up at the ceiling, perplexed. “Earlier this morning it was playing Christmas music,” she complained. “That was nice.”

“Yeah?” Bucky wondered. “Huh. I dunno. That’s weird.” He glanced at Tony, winked. “Such a shame.”

Tony winked back, a secretive smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah, too bad,” he agreed. “I’m sure you’ll be able to get your Christmas fix somewhere else, though. ‘Tis the season, and all.”

They continued down the elevator in almost perfect silence, although Bucky was fighting the urge to laugh every time he looked at Tony.

 _He has a nice smile_ , Bucky thought suddenly, and he did. Tony’s whole face lit up, brown eyes merry. If it wasn’t for the avowed curmudgeon declaration, he might have even looked the very picture of someone feeling the Joy of the Season.

A few more people got on, and nearly every single one of them glanced up, at least for a moment, like there was going to be a sign on the ceiling that said _Christmas is Cancelled_ or something.

By the time they reached the first floor and people started disembarking, Bucky was about ready to split his sides.

The last of the passengers dispersed into the parking garage, or headed to the trains, or to catch their Ubers.

And Bucky lost it. He cackled, bent in half, hands on his knees, out and out, practically rolling on the concrete floor.

“But… but… but…” he spluttered, “ _there’s always Christmas music_.”

Tony was chuckling, warm and deep and utterly delightful. “Joys of the season,” he said cheerfully. He put his hand in his pocket again, and as the elevator doors closed behind him, Bucky could hear the music starting back up, that overly cheerful jangling chime. “Here’s to many more peaceful rides.” He winked at Bucky again, then pushed through the front doors and turned down the sidewalk.

Bucky turned, almost absently, to watch him go, and then--

Couldn’t look away. Tony walked with the precision grace of a runway model, hips swinging lazily, perfect ass bouncing. 

_Oh, I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave._

***

Tony sank into his office chair with a happy sigh. He loved his chair. He loved his office. Specifically, he loved that his chair was in his office and that his office was not connected to the speaker system for the rest of the building, so he didn’t have to listen to any of the music or endure any of the overcheerful announcements of “winter holiday” activities that the various departments were hosting and/or encouraging.

He didn’t begrudge anyone their stilted office parties (too formal for real fun, too relaxed to actually get any work done) or their secret santa exchanges (sure, pick out a gift for someone you barely know, there’s bound to be a lot of special meaning in that) or their ugly sweater contests (... _why?_ ) but he didn’t want to have anything to do with them, either.

He leaned back in his chair and watched his computer booting up and thought about his neighbor, Bucky, who apparently hated all the frippery and nonsense of Christmas almost as much as Tony did, if for somewhat different reasons.

Maybe, Tony thought, he should invite the guy out for drinks or dinner or something. They could _not_ talk about Christmas, and then when they were invited to some festive gathering, they could truthfully claim that they had other plans already. Bucky was smoking hot, too, with those intense blue eyes and that shy little smile that burst into the most gorgeous laughter. Artfully-messy hair, broad shoulders and muscle definition that Tony could make out even through a sweater. Yum. And that prosthetic, that was pretty drool-worthy, too; such _gorgeous_ engineering. Though probably a somewhat touchier subject than which overplayed Christmas carol was the worst.

Yeah, definitely inviting Bucky out to do something. Even if he wasn’t into guys that way, Tony could enjoy the scenery and avoid the Christmas nonsense.

Pepper, Tony’s PA and all around life-saving angel, came into his office with a stack of files tucked under one arm, her tablet under another, and a cardboard carrier with two paper cups of coffee -- one peppermint latte for Pepper, and one black for Tony. “Morning, Tony,” she said, putting the coffee down first, because she knew him very well. Also, she was wearing a cream-colored suit, and if he dove over the desk to get the coffee, he might spill on her. “I’ve got all the white papers here for the two o’clock, a proposal from marketing that needs your signoff, a whole stack of Christmas cards that I will probably throw right in the trash, but I need to be able to tell people that you saw it, even if you just saw it going into the bin. Your tickets for the New Years thing that you said you’d do, but I don’t know if anyone really expects it, and a report from the Maria Stark Foundation charity. Anything you need today?”

Pepper said all of that evenly, clearly, and with just enough animation in her face to keep Tony’s attention, but as soon as she was done, she _sagged_. Like she wasn’t getting enough sleep, or her favorite shoes had broken, or the spa was closed. Something.

Tony stared at her for a moment, because Pepper was a friend as well as his PA, one of the few people who didn’t seem to feel the need to try to _convert_ him to Christmas or some such bullshit, and he didn’t want her to look sad or upset or tired. He took his coffee and sipped -- nice, the coffeeshop on the second floor had switched back to the blend Tony liked best -- and then pulled the marketing proposal toward himself and signed it without looking at it. If Pepper was bringing it to him then she’d already vetted it and found it acceptable.

“Two o’clock,” he said. “I will look at the white papers.” He didn’t promise to _read_ them, but he’d at least skim the executive summaries. “Chuck the cards unless there’s something in there that’s actually personal and not just other businesses or employees trying to suck up. You can tell them the usual bullshit.” His marketing and PR team sent out their own cards, he assumed. It was all so _pointless_. “Leave the New Years tickets; I will think about going if I can find a date who would actually make it fun.” New Years wasn’t _quite_ as bad as Christmas, but it was still pretty annoying. Gummed up traffic throughout the city for a solid week. “And I’ll look over the Foundation’s numbers sometime this week.” That was the one bright spot in the whole holiday murk -- the charities did much better around the holidays. “I need you to tell Daniels that I am _not_ going to approve his cockamamie project unless he comes up with some believable production and ROI numbers, but you can keep him dangling for a few days if you want.” He cocked his head, studying her again. “And tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s been kind of a day,” Pepper said. “Starting last night, and just... It’s not a big deal, we’ll manage. I’m just a little overwhelmed. Well, I mean, it is a big deal, but it just. Is. You know? Stuff you have to deal with, even if you’d rather not?”

“Sure,” Tony said, because everyone knew about that kind of stuff. “Anything I can do to help? You know I’d do anything for you.”

“Do you mean that? I mean, _anything_?” She brightened a little bit and that was encouraging. “I mean, I don’t want you to feel obligated, but I could really use a little bit of help.”

“Absolutely. Come on, Pep, you’re the only thing that makes my life bearable, some days. Let me return the favor a little. What do you need?”

“Okay, so, May’s mother is sick,” Pepper said. “You know, my mother-in-law, who thinks May is living in sin and spends all her time telling the children that we’re not _really_ their moms? That one? She’s horrible, and we don’t tend to spend a lot of time with her, for obvious reasons. What kind of woman says that to a four-year-old boy who just lost his parents?”

Tony nodded, because he’d listened to Pepper rant about her mother-in-law before, and what could he do but agree with her?

Pepper took a deep breath. “So, she’s asking for May. Deathbed visit. May wants to go, she wants her mom to have peace and you know, closure or whatever. We were going to bring the children with us, but I really, really don’t want to. I mean, who wants to spend Christmas with a dying relative that doesn’t really like you? I know I don’t, but May needs my support.”

Tony made a face. “Yeah, she shouldn’t face that alone, but that does sound awful. I’m sorry you’re going to have to deal with that. What can I do to help? Travel costs? Hotel?”

“Could you keep Peter and Morgan over the holidays? They already know you, Peter loves you to pieces, they wouldn’t worry or have to be scared if they were with you?” Pepper didn’t quite put her hands up to make a prayerful argument, but she looked close to it. 

And god, how could Tony even think of telling her no? She’d been the most important person in his life for _years_ ; he _adored_ Peter and Morgan; and they really should not have to face their hateful troll of a grandmother, because Tony was pretty sure that a deathbed change of heart wasn’t in the cards. And finding a caretaker through the holidays, at the last minute like this? Yeah, that wasn’t happening. “Yeah, of course,” he said. “It’ll be an extended sleepover.”

“Oh, my god, really? Tony, really, you will?” Pepper clapped both hands over her mouth, eyes brimming with sudden tears of relief. “Oh, you’re the best, just the absolute best.” She snatched a tissue from his desk and blotted her eyes before her mascara ran everywhere and ruined her business face. “Oh, my god. _Thank you._ I can’t thank you enough.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Tony said, reaching over the desk to pat her hand. “What are friends for, right? You focus on May, and let me handle the kids. I’ve babysat for you before, it’ll be fine.”

“I’m… this is going to be so much relief, I can concentrate on helping May and not on worrying about the kids, I’m just going to go call her and let her know,” Pepper said. She sniffled once, looking much less mature and put together than she usually did. It was a good look on her, really.

“You do that,” Tony said. “Take the day, if you need to. Let me know when you want to bring the kids over.”


	2. Chapter 2

He should’ve read the white papers. Skimming the precis wasn’t enough, and the team had known he wasn’t fully prepared. The whole thing had been a scramble, then, for him to catch up and get back on the same page, and he walked out of the meeting with the distinct feeling that he’d lost some points, there. He was going to have to pay particular attention to that project for a while.

Exhausted and needing a break, he decided to go get coffee. Not from the shop on the second floor, but from his actual favorite coffee shop a couple of blocks away. The walk there and back would help clear his thoughts and get him in a better mood for the rest of the day.

He waved at the security guard and swung out into the cold outside, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets.

Of course, it wasn’t just the meeting that had his wheels turning. Pepper and May were going to drop the kids off the next morning on their way to the airport, and Tony was going to have them for at least a week, maybe longer. He didn’t regret offering to help Pepper, but this was going to be _hard_. Peter, at eight, was a pretty quiet kid, well-behaved and endlessly curious, but Morgan, the four-year-old, was anything _but_ quiet, always ready for some sort of adventure.

Bribery, he hoped, would carry them through. He pushed into the coffee shop, pondering what he was going to do with two small children for the next week or so, and was immediately assaulted by a chorus of _fa-la-la_. Tony snorted and thumbed the remote in his pocket, putting a blissful halt to the noise.

Thank god. He stepped up to the counter and waited to placed his order, getting a small amount of amusement out of watching the store manager fiddling with the sound system in an attempt to figure out what had happened to it.

“I _thought_ I recognized the sounds of silence,” a vaguely familiar voice said, rough and low, in his ear. Tony turned around to see his neighbor leaning over his shoulder just a little, a wide grin across his face.

“Oh, Bucky, hi!” Tony’s sense of exhaustion didn’t magically dry up and bleed away, but it did ease enough to halt the headache that had been forming behind his eyes. “Nice to see your taste in coffee is as good as your taste in holidays.”

“Yeah, it’s good, right?” Bucky kept talking, and it was possible he was using it as an excuse to move up in the line, since the queue had formed a bit behind Tony. “Have you tried their cheesecake muffins? Like, _to die for_ in a paper wrapper. I come here whenever work sucks so bad I have to leave or end up in the vacuum bag. But-- we think we got the thing… well, not entirely solved, but-- better. Maybe not so much overtime. Hey, Doreen, can I get an espresso romano, and, what are you having, Tony?” 

“Black as my heart,” he told Doreen, who dimpled at him like she always did.

Bucky snorted. “You want to split a muffin? I need a break, but I should not eat an entire muffin, that would just… be a disaster.”

“A muffin is a disaster?” Tony said, amused. But he nodded to Doreen. “And one of those cheesecake muffins.”

“No, me eating an entire muffin would be a disaster. I’m totally unrestrained, I will eat the whole thing if I get it, and then I will be sugar crazy at the office, and then I will crash, all of which does in the effect of having an espresso in the first place.” Bucky ran his fingers through his hair, ending with a squeeze at the back of his neck. “How’s your wonderfully Christmas-free day been, so far?”

“Complicated,” Tony admitted. “My PA -- who is also one of my best friends -- has to go out of town kind of suddenly, and I’m going to be taking care of her kids.”

“Oh, sounds fun,” Bucky said, with just the right amount of enthusiasm. Not too much, but not the _you poor man_ kind of sarcasm, either.

Doreen called Bucky’s name, who paid for their coffee and snagged a pair of bar stools that lined the narrow counter around the shop. One plate, two forks, and Bucky made the most incredible appreciative food noises. Just a little over the top.

In the back, the manager managed to get the music going again and someone was doing a cover of _All I Want for Christmas._

It was almost, a little bit, like a date. Except for how it wasn’t. Just a chance meeting. But Tony sipped his coffee and tried a bite of the muffin -- okay, yeah, that really was just a little like an orgasm in his mouth -- and tried to think of something to talk about that wasn’t the weather or work or -- god forbid -- _Christmas_.

Okay, maybe it was a little more like a date than Tony had first thought. “What’s it like, growing up in a big family?” he wondered. It spilled out of his mouth before he’d even had a moment to wonder if that was too personal, or too banal.

“It’s _busy_ ,” Bucky said. “Teaches you a lot about how to get along with many different kinds of people. I mean, you would never know that me an’ Becca were related, we’re that different. Except we look almost the same. And Nat and I look completely different -- people mistake us for a couple all the time, and that’s freaky. She’s a red-head. But we have a lot of the same interests and hang out together a lot. I adore her husband, Clint, he’s great. The three of us do stuff all the time. My sister Sharon, she ended up marrying my best friend, Steve, and let me tell you, that was _weird_.”

“Yeah, that sounds kind of weird.” Tony couldn’t relate, really. He’d never had any siblings. Never had any friends his own age until he was in college. Even now, as an adult, he only had two good friends, and one of them was technically an employee. “What kind of stuff do you like to do?”

“We go to the gun range, a lot,” Bucky said. “Clint likes to show off with his bow, and it’s one of the few places he can use it, unless we go out to Jersey. And Nat likes to do those walking-tour scavenger hunts. Have you ever done those? Phone game and clues, and taking pictures around the city? She found one a few years ago and we’ve been working our way through them ever since.”

“No, but I got into geocaching a while back, while it was still really popular,” Tony said. He’d enjoyed the challenge of finding the hidden objects, and then enjoyed even more lurking on the discussion forums to see the reactions when someone found one of his caches, because he always left prizes that were a little nicer than the usual run of painted rocks, old Happy Meal toys, and occasionally the odd $5 gift card. “Scavenging sounds like fun.” He wondered if he could talk Pepper and May into trying it with him, once they’d come back from their trip.

“Oh, it’s great,” Bucky enthused. He took another bite of muffin and proceeded to talk about the last one they’d done, which was a zombie hunt. They’d been given clues to get “weapons” and resources, all of which ran off QR codes on stickers scattered around the city. “Nat got turned into a zombie right away, but then she spent the rest of the game trying to hunt us down.”

Tony laughed. “Did she succeed? Are you a zombie now?”

“She did,” Bucky admitted. “Sneaky little monster. She solved another one of the clues, and she couldn’t pick up the Clean Water, but she could wait there for us to show up.”

“Isn’t that cheating? Zombies aren’t supposed to have brains.” Tony hid his grin behind the coffee cup.

“I am not about to tell my little sister that she doesn’t have any brains,” Bucky said. “I like my guts inside my stomach, thank you. So, what do you do, for like, shits and giggles?”

Tony poked at the remains of the muffin. “I build stuff, mostly,” he said. “Uh. Robotics, that kind of thing.” It wasn’t a topic that most people wanted to hear about, he’d learned.

“Like, kits?” Bucky asked. “I have a cousin who likes to build those model airplanes and stuff. He always smells like glue.” 

“Ah, no, mostly from scratch. I like soldering circuit boards. It’s relaxing.” A lifetime of practice meant he didn’t hunch his shoulders defensively as he said it, but mentally, he was still braced for the scoff of disbelief and a rapid change of subject. “And if it doesn’t work, well, then I know who’s to blame.”

“If it doesn’t work?” Bucky wondered. “So, you’ve gotten some of them to work, I take it? What do they do? Have you watched the youtuber who does the poorly functioning robots?”

“Well, for some definition of ‘work’, anyway,” Tony said. “Poorly functioning robots?”

“Yeah, she makes them feed her soup -- they spill most of it -- or put on her lipstick for her, it’s hilarious,” Bucky said. He started to pull out his phone, possibly to show Tony a video, and then-- “Ug, out of time, bummer. This was fun, though.”

“It was,” Tony said, a little startled to realize that half an hour had flown by and that he’d actually enjoyed the chat. “We’ll have to do it again sometime.”

“Any time,” Bucky said, cheerfully. “You know where to find me. Or, actually, you don’t. 32B. B for Barnes, but that was entirely a coincidence.”

“Great,” Tony said, and meant it. “I’ll drop a note in your mailbox or something.”

Bucky shot him a pair of finger guns, grabbed the last bite of muffin and then dashed out the door.

***

Coffee was well worn off by the time Bucky got out of work; he’d thought about stealing one of Darcy’s Red Bulls out of the communal fridge, but figured that might end up with him being tasered and no one wanted that. Least of all him.

Becca had texted him and let him know that they were doing Small Christmas the next day, so he could get some of his gifts before everyone left. Because of course Becca had already done all her Christmas shopping. Becca was one of those Christmas freaks who had her damn list made up by July and put a 100 days until Christmas sign up in her living room every year. Which meant he was going to need to go out and get presents for her, her husband, and her kids, with no time to ship. Which meant braving a damn department store instead of buying shit on line in the comfort of his own bedroom without having to deal with _people_.

Three stores and one near-fist fight in the toy department later, Bucky thought he would just about murder someone if he heard Jingle Bell Rock one more goddamn time. 

Text From Bex: _Small Xmas at ur house. No decos up in ours._

Bucky almost screamed. He hadn’t _decorated_. What the hell, even?

He managed to get home, packages and wrapping paper intact, and boarded the elevator.

Which was playing Jingle Bell Rock.

Bucky inhaled, exhaled. 

And then pushed the button for the penthouse instead.

There were two penthouse apartments, in fact, so Bucky looked at the pile of packages in front of one door. Well, whoever Maria Hill was, Bucky was pretty sure she wasn’t Tony, so it must be the other unit. He wasn’t quite sure he knew what he was doing, but when did he ever let that stop him.

He pushed the buzzer.

A moment later, the door opened. “Look, Nick, I told you I don’t know--” He stopped, actually focusing. “Oh, Bucky! Hey! To what do I owe the pleasure?” He wasn’t wearing the businesswear he’d had on earlier in the day, the fitted slacks and oxford shirt and tie. He was, in fact, in a pair of jeans that had clearly seen better days, covered with stains and worn thin around the knees and at the bottom of one pocket. And a band tee. For Iron Maiden, of all things. His hair was mussed, and he had a smudge of oil or grease or something on one cheek.

“Where did you get that gizmo?” Bucky asked. “My sister and her kids are coming over tomorrow for dinner to do Pre-Christmas, and I need to wrap these, go out and get a tree, and some cheap decorations, and if I have to listen to any more damn Christmas music today, I may very well be on the news tomorrow. I can see the headlines now. One-armed man goes on shooting spree.”

Tony looked Bucky over -- not quite checking him out, but taking in the bags and Bucky’s general state of dishevelment, and then stepped back, waving for Bucky to come inside. “Come on, you look like you need a beer before you tackle any more Christmas today.”

“Thank you,” Bucky said, deflating like a balloon. He’d made it this far on sheer panic. “My sister tells me this today. I swear, she’s trying to push me into an early grave or something.” He put his bags down near the door. It was good to have… someone to bitch at about everything. A friend. One who he wasn’t related to through blood or marriage.

“Kind of rude for her to invite herself over on no notice,” Tony observed. He walked into the kitchen -- his apartment was laid out almost the same as Bucky’s, at least from what Bucky could see -- and came back with a pair of beer bottles. “Come on, have a seat and talk through your plan of attack.”

“Bex said she was going to bring dinner, which probably means one of those take-away turkey dinners from a shop, turkey, two vegetables, terrible gravy, you know. But hey, at least I’ll have leftover turkey sandwiches without having to cook,” Bucky said. The living room furniture was scarily white and clean and looked like it had rarely been used. Bucky perched on the very edge of the cushion, cautiously. “So I don’t need to worry about that, although, you know, I should pie. But I need a tree -- and decorations for the tree, since I don’t have any because I didn’t get married and I haven’t gotten the Wedding Box of Christmas Death from my ma yet. And a wreath, and maybe some other decorations and to wrap a few empty boxes so it doesn’t look like I don’t have any friends.”

Tony twisted the top off his beer and hummed throughtfully. “There’s a bakery a couple of blocks down that does good pie. And it’ll cost a premium, but I can put you in touch with a place that will deliver you a tree. Set it up, string the lights and everything. They do the ones at my office building, they’re good people.”

“Huh,” Bucky said, blinking. He didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him that there was a service for that. He guessed he’d never really thought about it, or thought that all the businesses in New York had some elves or something stashed in the closet all year who just came out to rig up the decorations. “I mean, there’s an all night Christmas shop down in Soho, twenty-four hours a day, all year long. I was going to--” What was he going to do, anyway, take an Uber to Christmas World and buy a tree and a box of decorations, and what? Put a tree on the subway? He had seen weirder things before, but _damn_ , that sounded miserable. “Do you have their number? Or a name I can look up?”

“Yeah, hang on a minute.” He got up and went into one of the back rooms -- bedroom or office or whatever -- and came back a couple of minutes later with a business card, a number scrawled on the back. “Sorry about the stationary; I don’t really keep a lot of paper around. But tell them I sent you. They’ll treat you right.”

Bucky blinked. Not a lot of _paper_ \-- what? Bucky had post-its in every room in his house, some in his office, and-- “No, this is great, I mean. You probably just saved me a lot of time and effort, which is probably going to be worth whatever delivery fee they charge.” He took another sip of beer, this one easier than the last. “So, where’d you get your Grinch Wand from?”

Tony leaned over and picked up a small box from the coffee table that Bucky had assumed was a remote for the TV or sound system or something. “I made it,” he said, offering it to Bucky. “I don’t know; I was experimenting with nullifying fields for protecting cellular transactions and it suddenly occurred to me that I could use it to turn electronics off.”

“That’s neat,” Bucky said, then rolled his eyes. Who said neat anymore, anyway? He did, apparently. “That could be useful in a combat situation, keep your communications open, while disrupting the other guy’s.”

“Yeah, that’s one of the directions we’re pursuing it,” Tony agreed. “But in the meantime it was September and I was already seeing Christmas shit in the stores and I just... couldn’t take it.”

“Yeah, I always hear people complain that there’s a war on Christmas, and I’m like, yeah, Carolyn, but Christmas _won_.”

Tony laughed delightedly. “Exactly. So yeah, that’s when I decided to make that.”

“Well, you’re a damn genius, is what you are,” Bucky said. “That’s clever as hell.” He finished off the last of his beer and then belched, tasting hops and wheat. “‘Scuse me.”

“Well, yes,” Tony said. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “It’s good to have someone to, you know, talk to about this, that doesn’t try to tell me _but it’s Christmas_ like that changes anything.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed. “As if that doesn’t just pile on even more pressure to get everything just right.”

“I’ll get close enough,” Bucky said. “It’s my sister, she’ll either be impressed I did anything at all, or she’ll totally call me on the carpet for cheating. It’s a sister thing. Thanks for all this. Come on down tomorrow, if you want, after supper. You can have some of the extra pie.”

Bucky hauled his ass off Tony’s sofa -- not as comfortable as it was pretty, and Bucky noticed that Tony had left a grease stain behind on it, but hey, that was Tony’s problem -- and made his goodbyes. He couldn’t tell if Tony was serious about coming down for pie later or what, but it’d be fun.

He was super cute, and Bucky wouldn’t mind getting to know him better. Bucky gathered up most of his packages, and Tony helped him stack the rest, walked him out to the elevator and pushed the button for him, which was above and beyond. 

“See ya!”

“Hang in there,” Tony said. “Only a couple more weeks until it’s all over!”

Bucky pretty much dropped everything inside the door to his place, pulled out the card Tony gave him and dialed the number. “Miracle on 73rd Street, how can we make your holiday jolly and bright?”

By dropping dead almost immediately, Bucky thought sourly. “I need a Christmas tree, decorated, lit, and I kinda need it--” He winced inwardly. “--tomorrow morning. My friend Tony...” He flipped the card and then just about swallowed his tongue. “Tony Stark said to give you a call. He said you were the best.”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Stark is an excellent customer. I’m glad he’s spoken so highly of us. Let me connect you to one of our consultants and you can discuss what your options are for that timeframe.”

Bucky shook his head at himself as he listened to -- _goddamn Christmas hold music_ \-- the transfer message and then more music. 

He’d just name-dropped Tony fucking Stark. Jesus. Tony probably thought he was an idiot. “You’re a genius, that’s what you are.” All his banked and reserved cool points went right out the window. Or, maybe not. Tony didn’t seem upset that Bucky wasn’t recognizing him, so-- maybe it was okay.

He was just making a list of all the reasons it could be good that he was an idiot, when the consultant came on line and they started discussing just how much of a _car_ he could have bought with this rush job Christmas tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Robot Girl](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC3KEoMzNz8eYnwBC34RaKCQ). ([Our favorite -- the chopping machine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ISPnkVMxkcs).)


	3. Chapter 3

Tony paced the length of his living room, trying to deal with the nagging feeling that he’d forgotten something. Pepper and May were due to drop the kids off any minute, and he was _certain_ he’d forgotten something.

He’d prepped the guest room with the kid-friendly sheets and blankets and books and stuffed toys that he’d acquired a year or so ago when he’d first started occasionally babysitting so Pepper and May could have a date night once in a while. He’d had the grocery service deliver nominally healthy food in little crinkly packages with cartoon characters printed on them, along with a number of microwave meals for himself. He’d put a little stepstool in the guest bath so Morgan could reach the sink.

They’d bring their own clothes, a few favorite toys they couldn’t live without for a few days, and Morgan’s booster seat in case they had to take a car somewhere. They were too young to have homework over the break. The emergency instructions were in a drawer in the kitchen, where he’d put them when Pepper had given them to him a year ago.

He’d taken out the beer bottles from his impromptu visit from Bucky the previous evening and put them in the building recycling, even.

What the hell had he forgotten?

It was closer to lunch than morning by the time May rang the doorbell, two kids in tow. Pepper was bringing up the rear, with not one, but _three_ suitcases on wheels, and each of the kids had a backpack on.

“I can’t tell you how much we appreciate this, can you say thank you to Mr. Tony for looking after you--”

Peter, who was being determinedly grown up and _cool_ as it was possible for an eight-year-old to be in a stressful situation when he was about to tell his two moms goodbye for Christmas, gave Tony a nod. “Thanks, man.”

Morgan, on the other hand, scowled, looking around the living room. “There’s no Chris’mas tree,” she said. “Where are we gonna put our presents wiff no tree?” Morgan was four, and she hadn’t yet learned not to say everything and anything that was on her mind. Usually loudly. 

Christmas. _That’s_ what he had forgotten.

...Shit.

He fixed his smile in place and said, “Ah, well. My friend Bucky who lives downstairs has a very nice tree, and he invited us over for pie tonight, so maybe he’ll let us use his tree.”

“You have a friend named Bucky?” Peter asked. “That’s not a real name.”

“Peter,” May said in _that tone_. “What did I tell you about people’s names?”

“All words are made up words,” he repeated back. “He’s a grown up?” Peter still seemed very dubious.

“These are Peter and Morgan’s gifts,” Pepper said, rolling one suitcase into the living room. “We’ve already done some Christmas, so this is just a few things for them to open on the day. So it’s not so lonely.” She didn’t quite have Morgan’s scowl on at seeing the penthouse entirely undecorated, but Tony could tell she didn’t entirely _approve_ , either.

It was, of course, one thing to say you hated Christmas, and another thing entirely to actually neglect to celebrate it.

“What kind of pie? An’ ice cream too, wiff the pie? I like ice cream,” Morgan said. “I wish my friends lived downstairs.”

“I don’t know if Bucky will have ice cream,” Tony said. “Maybe we should bring some with us. And yes, he’s an adult.” He ruffled Peter’s hair. “I think Bucky is a nickname, not his real name, but that’s what he likes to be called.”

He pulled Pepper into a hug. “We’ll be _fine_ ,” he asserted, which he always said when she dithered over leaving the kids with him. “Go.” He couldn’t say _enjoy yourselves_ , which he usually said, so instead he said, “Don’t miss your flight. This time of year, they’ll give up your seats if you’re so much as five minutes late checking in.”

Pepper nodded, kissed both of the kids and told them to have fun, mind Mr. Tony, and they’d call _every night, promise._

And then, he was alone in a house with two kids. Family, of a sort. For the holidays.

Peter was stacking the gifts on Tony’s coffee table, where they looked sort of small and trying too hard to be cheerful in the middle of his living room.

Morgan went exploring, as she always did when she first arrived. Usually she’d latch onto one of the stuffed toys in the guest room and come back to pronounce herself satisfied.

This time, she came back empty-handed. “Where’s th’ _lights?_ ” she demanded. “And the dec’ratins?” Her eyes got big and watery. “Mr. Tony, _where’s Chris’mas_?”

Fuck. Fuck fuck _fuck_. Of course Pepper and May would have gotten the kids excited for Christmas, not knowing they were going to be called out of town at the last minute. And Tony might be a Scrooge when it came to Christmas, but he wasn’t some kind of monster who wanted to make children cry. “I, um. It’s...”

He glanced around his very simple, plain living space. He didn’t live in it much; most of his free time at home was spent in his workshop. “I just haven’t put anything up yet,” he finished lamely. Morgan stared at him suspiciously. She could pack a lot of disbelief into her tiny, chubby face. “Really,” he promised. “It’s going to be fine. It’s not Christmas _yet_.”

Peter sighed, waving his arms around and promptly knocking the stack of presents over. "Morguuna," he said, "we already had some Christmas. How much of it do you need?" Peter was using his _trying to be reasonable_ voice that he'd gotten from May.

Morgan glared at her brother. “ _All of it!_ ”

“We’re going to have Christmas,” Tony said, somewhat desperately. Not that he had any idea of how to have the kind of Christmas that kids could look forward to. All he could remember from his own childhood were elegant and expensive decorations that he wasn’t allowed to touch, a sharp uptick in the amount of drinking his father did, and a number of staged family outings in which he spent so much time trying to make sure he was following his mother’s instruction to look like he was happy that he wasn’t able to actually _be_ happy. And since he’d grown up, Christmas had been just another expense on the corporate budget -- decorations and bonuses and showy donations to charity. None of that seemed like anything a kid would like.

Bucky would know, probably. Even if Bucky wasn't looking forward to Christmas, he’d still done the big family thing, growing up. He’d know, right? Tony almost reached for his keys to run down to ask, but then stopped. Bucky was almost certainly at work, still. But he’d be home for his family dinner. And pie, after. To which he had invited Tony.

Tony would ask while the children were distracted by pie and ice cream. Bucky would tell him how to make a Christmas that kids could enjoy.

***

The tree had arrived shortly after Bucky took a long lunch (and then he logged in remotely anyway, so it wasn’t like anyone should complain) and was set up before the end of his conference call with the Romanian office ended. He didn’t like working through lunch, but as it was eight pm in Bucharest, he was willing to give them some slack.

A little slack.

“Oh, that’s just--”

Perfect was the word he wanted to use, except that he had specifically said he wanted the tree decorated _imperfectly_. Not neat, cold, professional lines, or all matching ornaments, or anything, but something someone might have done, watching corny stop-motion animation, and sipping cocoa. Something he could have done, even if he didn’t. 

About half the ornaments looked handmade by someone’s children at summer camp, and there was a big plaid ribbon wrapped around the entire tree that took the place of tinsel. And lights, white lights that he could set to steady or blink. “--great, that’s really great.”

He winced inwardly, pulling out his credit card and reminded himself that he did not, in fact, have to buy Christmas presents for his entire family this year, and that this was cheaper than that usually ran. He had a little something set aside for Nat and Clint, and a bottle of wine for Sharon and Steve. And a necklace for Rachel. And hockey tickets for his brothers. So yeah, he’d already spent a lot of money for Christmas-light, but whatever.

And that was what credit cards were for, right?

“We’re happy that you’re happy,” the decorator said. She’d brought over some garlands, and a wreath, too, as bonuses. Probably for name-dropping Tony Stark, so that was good.

His house looked. Festive. And he’d dragged out his old Yankee Candle-factory candles, and the house smelled like pine and cranberries. Like he’d actually been cooking or something.

The pies he’d gotten even came in glass pie plates, although he doubted that Becca would buy for an instant that he’d, in fact, cooked.

Not that Bucky couldn’t cook; he knew how. As the oldest of seven, he’d spent a lot of time taking care of his brothers and sisters, which included making dinner and the occasional birthday cake.

He just tended not to.

And then, Becca and the children came over, they ate turkey and stuffing with all the trimmings, and Bucky had managed to dodge any awkward or pitying questions from his sister, which he would count as an absolute triumph.

Presents had been sorted into piles and Bucky was just putting on coffee for the adults when his doorbell rang.

“Just a minu--” he started, but Freddie was already at the door, bouncing like she did. 

“UNNCLE BUCKY there’s a MAN HERE!” she yelled. “An’ two kids!”

_A what?_

Bucky pushed the coffee filter with its grounds into the machine and clicked it on. “Did you get a name, or are we just letting random weirdos into my house?”

“Excuse you; I am not a _random_ weirdo. I am a _very specific_ weirdo,” said Tony Stark, suddenly in the doorway to Bucky’s apartment. He had two children with him: a boy about Alison's age who was looking around with wide eyes, and a small girl -- four or five maybe, right between George and Jimmy, who was clinging to Tony’s hand like a lifeline but also looking around curiously. “I hoped you remembered when you invited me to come down for pie that I was going to be in custody of two very small whirlwinds.” He grimaced a little, as if he was only now coming to the realization that Bucky had maybe _not_ meant to include the kids in his invitation.

Behind Tony’s back, Becca was staring at the back of Tony’s head. _Is that TONY STARK?_ she mouthed.

Tony held up an insulated bag. “We brought ice cream?”

Well, that decided it. Freddie grabbed the boy’s hand and dragged him into the apartment. “I love ice cream, what flavors did you bring? We have pie, orange pie and brown pie.”

“Pumpkin and pecan,” Bucky said, over her head. He had, in fact, forgotten that he’d invited Tony at all, since that had been before discovering that Tony was _Tony_ , and might not actually want to come join a senior database admin for pie. “Yes, come in, there’s plenty of pie, this is my sister Rebecca, but everyone calls her Becca. Her husband Scott with the wine glass over there, and her children-- Freddie’s the little socialite here, and then there’s George and Jimmy, and Alison’s pretending that she can’t hear us so she doesn’t have to stop playing with the PlayStation. This is Tony.”

The look on Becca’s face might have been the best Christmas present _ever_.

Tony extended his hand for Becca and Scott, effortlessly charming, pretending not to notice Becca’s gobsmacked expression. Which was good, because it didn’t look like it was going away anytime soon. “These are Peter and Morgan,” he said. “They’re not mine,” he explained to Becca and Scott, “but they belong to dear friends who have been called away unexpectedly, so I said I’d be happy to take them for the duration.”

“Our grandmama is sick,” Peter said, trying to figure out what to do with Freddie’s grabbie hands. Freddie liked to hug and squeeze and hold onto people as if they were giant mobile toys, and even though Becca lectured her about consent constantly, she still hadn’t seemed to have outgrown it.

“Indeed,” Tony said, patting Peter’s shoulder. “We brought vanilla ice cream, because it goes with everything, and rocky road, because this one--” He nodded at Morgan. “--insisted. No nut allergies here, I hope?”

“Nope,” Bucky said. “My other sister, Sharon? Her husband’s got a nut allergy--”

“An’ shellfishes an’ he’s gluten intolerant, an’ he has asthma, an--” Freddie added.

“We don’t need to list of all Steve’s illnesses,” Bucky said. “First off, we’d be here all night, and secondly, it doesn’t matter, since he’s not _here_.”

“Well then,” Tony said, clapping his hands together briskly, “let’s dish up some ice cream and pie. And is that coffee I smell?” He turned a wide, mock-pathetic look on Bucky.

“Shit, the coffee,” Bucky said, then smacked his hand over his mouth as all the adults in the room glared and the kids all gasped.

“Shit,” Morgan said, promptly.

Tony winced. “No, no, no, that’s not a word we say. Bucky’s got the copyright on that, only he’s allowed to say it.”

“Yes, coffee,” Bucky said. “Go, sit, I’ll bring out cups. Becca, can you get the pie started?”

“Scott can do it,” Becca said breezily. “I’ll help you with coffee.”

Because of course she would.

Bucky sighed and went back into the kitchen. “There’s hazelnut creamer in the fridge if you want it, or milk,” he told his sister, trying to distract her as he got down mugs. He made his own cup, then poured Tony a cup of black, and got the yellow packet sweeteners down, along with the sugar bowl.

“James Buchannan Barnes,” she said, very very quietly but very very firmly. “Why is _Tony Stark_ sitting at your dining table?”

“Because I invited him?” Bucky tried. “Scott’s is three sugars and a little creamer, right?”

“Yes and just how did you happen to _invite Tony Stark_ over for dessert? _And he came?_ ” She looked down at the cup Bucky had set aside for Tony. “ _And you know how he takes his coffee?_ ” She backed up half a step to give Bucky the full force of her I-know-you’re-up-to-something-mister glare.

Unable to resist spinning up his sister, “I asked him after he helped me set up the decorating.” He gestured at the living room with its perfectly imperfect tree and the garland draped over the mantle. “Which he helped me do after I stopped by his place last night.” Literally, nothing he said there was untrue, which was even better.

“You _WHA--_ ” She cut herself off before her voice could spiral up into a screech, and her face turned red as she glanced back toward the dining room. “We are going to have a _conversation_ ,” she threatened. “Very soon.”

“I thought we were having one now,” Bucky said. “Look, just-- behave, okay? I don’t need you embarrassing me right now.” Which was true in more ways than one. “Grab Scott’s cup, and--” He took his mug and Tony’s out to the dining room, setting it down. The pies were in smallish slivers so everyone could have one of each if they wanted, which Bucky put down to his brother-in-law’s persnickety nature. Probably because he was an engineer.

Tony accepted his mug with a grateful smile. “Bless you; I haven’t been able to go out for coffee all day. Listen, when you’ve got a minute, I’ve got a couple of questions--”

“Mr. Bucky has a tree,” Morgan announced, somewhat belatedly. “And dec’rations.”

“Yes,” Tony said. “I told you that before we came down.”

She turned big, solemn eyes on Bucky. “Will you help Mr. Tony get a tree? I think he needs help.”

Tony put his hand over his face.

“Howcome you don’t have a tree, Mr. Tony?” Freddie asked.

“Because he was _waiting_ for Peter and Morgan to help him pick one out,” Bucky lied, smoothly. “And then they can help decorate it, which is just a lot of fun, don’t you think?”

Peter spun around from where he’d been watching Alison's game. “We get to help pick it out?” he said excitedly.

Tony looked up at Bucky from between two fingers, one eyebrow raised, then took a deep breath and said, “Yeah, of course. Come and have some pie or something, would you?”

Morgan was still staring up at Bucky. “Are you gonna help?”

_Assuming he doesn’t kill me the next time we’re alone for more than five seconds_ , Bucky thought. “Well, that seems only reasonable, _if_ Tony wants my help. He helped me, I’ll help him.”

“Yay!” Morgan cried, and her little face transitioned from almost mournful to utterly delighted without any apparent movement at all, like flipping from one slide to the next. “We’re gonna pick a tree wiff Mr. Tony and Mr. Bucky!”

From the other side of the table, Becca was watching Bucky over the rim of her coffee cup.

“I’m telling you, Soho, 24-hour Christmas World,” Bucky said, giving Tony a wink and hoping he wasn’t about to get called out for being eight kinds of asshole.


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky rang Tony’s doorbell shortly after six, a basket tucked under the artificial arm and a bottle of cognac in the other hand. “Apology gift. Did your tree-fetching go well?”

“Oh, splendid,” Tony said drily. He waved Bucky in. “Come on in and see what you have wrought.”

At least they’d been able to have the tree delivered after they’d gone to pick it out in person. And then they’d spent _hours_ at the damned Christmas store, picking out lights and ornaments and garlands and decorations and all sorts of other junk. Tony had kept expecting the kids to run out of steam and be ready to go home, but their energy had been _boundless_.

And when they’d gotten home, they’d found that the tree had beaten them there and was leaning up against the wall outside Tony’s door. Which had spurred them to insist that he set it up _immediately_.

He’d had to improvise a saw when it turned out the tree was just a _little_ too tall for the room, and he hadn’t been able to get it to stand quite perfectly straight even after multiple attempts at adjusting the base. The lights had come very neatly out of their packaging -- and then promptly tangled themselves. Tony wasn’t even sure how it had happened, because neither of the kids had even _touched_ them, he was sure of it.

He was exhausted, aching, and covered in scratches and welts from the pine needles. And they hadn’t even started decorating the tree yet. Or putting up most of the other decorations the kids had insisted on (aside from a couple of truly hideously tacky throw pillows that Peter had propped carefully on the ends of Tony’s couch).

Shit. What kind of people _looked forward_ to doing this _every year?_ Most of the Western world, apparently. Tony couldn’t see the appeal.

“Very lovely,” Bucky said, approvingly. “Look, I’m-- er, sorry I got you into trouble?” 

Tony waved a hand. “Nah, I was going to have to do something for them anyway. They’re just kids, you know?” They were too young to have their illusions shattered.

Peter raced into the room. “Who ya talkin-- Oh, hey Mr. Bucky! Are you stayin’ to help us decorate the tree?”

“Hello, Peter,” Bucky said. “I brought some special decorations, and a few treats to help set the mood.” He gave Tony a wink, “But no Christmas music… I thought we could listen to _They Might Be Giants_ , instead. Or the Wiggles. I have some Wiggles CDs.”

Peter looked dubious. “I’m too old for the Wiggles,” he told Bucky.

Tony felt a warm glow in his chest. It was a nice gesture. Thoughtful. Accepting the inevitability of the decorations but refusing to bow to the music... It was nice.

And the booze definitely wouldn’t hurt, either. “Let me get some glasses and you can unpack your...” He waved at the basket. “Whatever you brought with you.”

By the time Tony had returned with the glassware and a couple of juice pouches for the kids, Morgan had made her appearance as well, and was trying to peek into Bucky’s basket.

“You’re not too old for the Wiggles,” Bucky protested, unloading his basket. “Because if you’re too old, than I’m way too old, and I promise you, I went to a Wiggles concert not two years ago. Those are gingerbread cookies, my sister dropped them off this morning, with a great deal of _significant looks_ directed at me, but said they were for you all to share.”

“What’s a si’figant look?” Morgan asked.

“It means you can’t have more than one before dinner,” Tony put in quickly, handing over the juice boxes. He directed a small smile at Bucky. “Tell her thanks from us. When does your family leave for their trip?”

Peter drifted over. “Is your grandma sick too?”

“Not as far as I know,” Bucky said. “But she lives in Ireland and not here. So, we’d all planned a big trip out to see her, and then a very annoying person at my work broke everything, and I have to spend the next two weeks fixing it again, which is why I can’t go. And it’s why I wasn’t able to come help you and Mr. Tony pick out your tree.” Out of respect for Peter’s dignity -- that only an eight year old could have -- Bucky dropped the They Might be Giants CD in the player that Tony indicated. 

Actually decorating the tree wasn’t so bad, especially after Bucky suggested that they let the kids do most of it while the two of them sat on the couch and “supervised”, sipping what turned out to be a lovely cognac, and only getting up to chip in with the taller branches that the kids couldn’t reach. It resulted in some rather odd choices -- Morgan hung about ten ornaments all on the same low branch, making it look like it was about to explode, and Peter spent the better part of half an hour trying to arrange one set of ornaments in a pattern discernible only to eight-year-old eyes. But since the tree was, after all, entirely for the kids’ benefit, it didn’t matter if it looked somewhat lopsided and awkward, as long as they were happy, right?

“My mom,” Bucky said, tipping himself out another drink, “used to supervise, but her supervision came with a lot more directions… _you can’t put two green ornaments next to each other, Jimmie_.”

Tony huffed. “Why the he-- heck not?” he wondered. “It’s a green _tree_ , they’re going to blend in anyway.”

“I don’t know. It took _hours_. She’d spread all the ornaments out all over the floor, have one of us put an ornament on the tree, back up, look at it. Move it three inches to the left. And we used to fight about who got to help each year. I dunno, we were kids.”

Tony chuckled. “I like our system better. As long as they don’t make one side so much heavier than the other that the whole thing falls over.” He sipped a little more. It was nice, actually, sitting and chatting, listening to actually good music and watching the kids amuse themselves more or less harmlessly. Tony only had to intervene once or twice to help deal with stubborn hooks, and once to clean up an ornament that got dropped and broke.

Bucky offered Tony one of the cookies. “This works. I like this. Everyone’s participating, doing what they do best. And what I do best, is watch and boss people around.”

Almost, _almost_ , Tony asked if Bucky liked to boss people around in the bedroom, too, but god knew Peter and Morgan had the sharpest hearing ever when it was something they shouldn’t hear. He took another sip of cognac and nodded. “Yep. I mean, sometimes I like to get my hands dirty, but sometimes it’s good to sit back and make the interns figure things out on their own.”

“So what do I do best, Mister Bucky?” Morgan wanted to know, because of course she did.

“You are a pretty good questioner,” Bucky said, scratching his chin and appearing to consider the matter. “And you’re very enthusiastic. We need enthusiasm here. It’s contagious, did you know that? Like a cold. First one person’s enthusiastic, and then everyone’s enthusiastic.”

“That’s true,” Tony said. “You keep us all going.”

“They’re cute kids,” Bucky said, as the two of them got back to their neglected decoration duties. “Seem well adjusted.”

Tony nodded. “Things were a bit rough for Peter for a while; he lost his mom when he was a little younger than Morgan is now, so he wound up with his aunt, which as you can imagine was pretty hard for them both. And then she got together with my friend, Pepper, so he had to get used to _another_ new parent figure. But then they had Morgan, and I think that steadied him a little. Gave him someone that _he_ could take care of, you know? But yeah, they’re pretty good kids. I really enjoy our time together. It’s fun to watch them grow up and discover new things and evolve into the person they’re going to be.”

***

Morgan had given up on the whole walking thing and Tony was carrying her, precariously balanced on his hip as she practically dozed against his side. Peter wasn’t exactly perky anymore either. They’d gone to see some movie -- Tony hadn’t really paid attention to it, except that it was rated PG and animated.

Sassy damsel in distress, dumb but well-meaning sidekick, heroic prince to defeat the bad guy, ended with the suggestion that there might be a wedding, eventually. Typical, and not, Tony thought, very interesting.

The kids had shared a bucket of popcorn practically bigger than Morgan, and Tony was pretty sure more than half of it ended up on the movie theater’s floor, and then they’d gotten ice cream.

Maybe it was too much. The kids seemed pretty tired, and Tony was just trying to keep from dropping Morgan on her head and get the door when--

“Hey, let me give you a hand here,” Bucky said, striding up from the other direction. He was dressed up today, including a jacket and tie that Tony could see because he’d left his winter coat hanging open in the front.

“Thank you,” Tony said gratefully. “Can you take her for a second, here?” He handed Morgan over and surreptitiously stretched the arm that had been aching from carrying a child right on the verge of “too big to be picked up”. He then shuffled the bags of takeout he’d picked up for their dinner -- though he was beginning to have his doubts whether any of it would get eaten, now -- and sighed in relief. “That’s better. Thanks. Think you can bring her up to my place for me?”

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky said, shifting the girl around until she was sitting on his left arm, her head resting against Bucky’s chest. 

“Hi, Mr. Bucky,” she said, sleepily. “We seed a movie.”

“Oh? That sounds way better than my day,” Bucky told her. “But, we think we’re almost all done fixing the servers, so I actually get to take Christmas Eve _off_.”

“Hey, that’s great,” Tony said cheerfully. “Any plans yet?” He pulled the front doors open and held them for Peter and Bucky. “Peter, go push the elevator button for us, please.”

Peter didn’t run with his usual enthusiasm toward the elevator bank, but he nodded and straightened a little.

“Not yet,” Bucky said. “It’s way too late for me to head out to Ireland, even if I wanted to try to fly on Christmas Eve. Ug, no thanks. Probably binge watch all the Not-Quite-Christmas movies, you know, like _Die Hard_ and _Gremlins_ and _Home Alone_ and _Love, Actually_. That kind of thing.”

“You could come and hang out with us,” Tony offered. “I admit up front my ulterior motive: I might need a little help with the whole... Christmas thing, still.” Also, he wouldn’t mind spending some more time with Bucky anyway, but that seemed odd to just come right out and say.

“Yeah?” Bucky asked. “What sort of help? What have you done so far? Is this revenge for voluntolding you into tree acquisition?”

“Well, we got the tree,” Tony said. “And a few decorations. I just... what do people do on Christmas Eve? I mean, really, not like in the movies, because I know that’s fake.” And not like what his family had done, which was either attend some charity event to show off their prosperity, or retreat to their separate areas of the house, avoiding each other as much as possible.

“Well, we used to bake cookies, which took most of the day, really. With seven kids and most of us liking different kinds of cookies,” Bucky said. “Ma would get the turkey ready to cook, because that would take most of the _next day_. She was always up just as early as us, so she could get the bird in the oven. And the Christmas Unicorn--” Bucky shook his head, a faint blush around his cheeks.

“Cookies, we can probably do that,” Tony agreed. “I don’t know about a turkey. That might be beyond me. What... is a Christmas Unicorn? I’m really sure I’ve never heard of any unicorns associated with Christmas.”

“Ok, no, I’m pretty sure that’s just an us thing,” Bucky murmured. “A Barnes family-- thing. Mostly because I am very, very bad at ceramics.”

“Ceramics. Okay, I need to hear about this,” Tony said, a smile tugging at his lips at the way that little blush was climbing Bucky’s face. He steered everyone into the elevator and keyed in the floor.

“So, here’s the thing, Ma had this antique Nativity. You know the thing, little wooden house and the Virgin and her babe, with all the animals and angels. And Ma’s was huge, like fifty or sixty pieces, and she always set it up around the fireplace because we couldn’t actually have a fire in it -- landlord had them all blocked up in the 70s to stop heat loss through the chimneys or something, I don’t know. It was an old building we lived in. Anyway, seven kids, right? Although there weren’t that many of us, then. Rachel’s close to sixteen years younger than I am. Me and Andrew were goofing off with some toy, I can’t remember, I think a race car. Anyway, I broke the cow figure. Well, bull-figure, I guess. Busted it to itsy bitsy pieces. There was no way to glue it.” 

“Yike,” Tony said sympathetically. “Mom not likely to be understanding, I expect.”

“Well, I mean, in retrospect, she probably would have yelled some, but no big deal, it wasn’t like she was gonna cancel Christmas on us,” Bucky said. “But at the time, we were terrified, it was right before Christmas and we were in _so much trouble._ So, we cleaned up the mess, moved some of the figures around, and just. Didn’t say _anything_. And after Christmas was over, me and Andy volunteered to put the Nativity away.”

“Oh dear.”

“Right after New Years, I started campaigning to take a ceramics class,” Bucky said. “I was going to make Ma a new bull before the next year, and she would _never notice_. Right?”

“Oh _no_ ,” Tony laughed. He fished in his pocket for the keys and let them all into the apartment.

“Yeah, so the problem was that I couldn’t exactly take the matching cow with me to class or anything-- so I tried to make one. A ceramic bull. And… um. Well, it looked terrible, but I was determined to follow through, so I baked it, and one of the horns fell off while it was baking. But I put it in the box just the same.”

Tony laughed outright.

“The next year,” Bucky said, putting Morgan down on the sofa, where she sat up and blinked several times, and promptly stuck her thumb in her mouth. “The next year, I… honestly, I forgot about it. Until Ma was setting up for Christmas and all the sudden, she’s like _James Buchannan Barnes_ where did this-- _Christmas Unicorn_ come from?”

Tony almost fell over laughing. “A Christmas miracle!” he suggested, leaning against the wall for support.

“So, the whole story came out, and Ma docked my allowance to pay for a new bull,” Bucky said. “But somehow the unicorn got packed up again at the end of Christmas. And Becca was putting out the Nativity that next year, and _James Buchannan Barnes, where did this Christmas Unicorn come from?_ All over again. Only this time, Ma had put a special present aside, if anyone commented on the unicorn. So Becca got it. And every year after that, she’d hide the unicorn and we’d all look for it.”

“That’s kind of cute,” Tony said. It was absolutely _not_ the sort of heartwarming story that would have sprung from a similar incident at his house. “But I don’t have a Christmas unicorn. Or a nativity at all. So we’ll have to find something else to do. If you’re willing to come up, anyway.”

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky said. “It’s a date. Sort of. Thing.” His blush went from faint and nostalgic to beet red, creeping down his neck.

Now _that_ was an interesting reaction. Tony wondered if he might be able to enjoy more than simply the sight of his neighbor. Maybe. If he played his cards right. “Absolutely,” he said. “Come on up whenever you like; these two don’t believe in sleeping in even on days that are not Christmas.” He threw Morgan a faintly oppressed look, which made her giggle a little around her thumb.

“Sure,” Bucky said. “I mean, I kinda got out of the habit of waking up at dawn on Christmas day, but I’m usually up at least by ten.”

“Whatever suits. We’ll make cookies. Tell me what you like so I can look up recipes and get ingredients. And I’ll figure out... some sort of dinner. Delivery, probably. GrubHub’s probably still running.”

“Good recipe for little hands, Christmas Wreaths,” Bucky said. “Just cornflakes, chocolate chips, and red and green sprinkles. As long as she can handle a fork, this one can help make ‘em.”

“I’ll make a note of it,” Tony said. And made an additional note to google _child friendly_ recipes specifically, because he didn’t always remember that the kids might want to be included in that sort of thing. “It sounds like... it might be a good time.” It did, actually. None of the superficial bullshit that annoyed him so much about Christmas. Just people he liked and food and maybe a movie or two... Yeah, that sounded great.


	5. Chapter 5

Bucky didn’t know that he’d ever been in his parents’ home when there was no one there. There was a strange stillness in the air as he unlocked the door, thumbed in his code on the alarm box, and moved into the kitchen. The last of the childhood dogs had passed on a few years back, and Rachel had decided against getting a new puppy, since she was going out of state for college and that wouldn’t be fair to Ma.

He put down his bags -- having braved yet another last minute shopping expedition to get a few last minute surprise gifts for Tony and the kids (including stockings and stuffers because Tony had just looked at him blankly when Bucky asked if the kids had them) and supplies for some cookies -- and made his way deeper into the house.

Most of the house was closed down, these days. The room he’d shared with Andrew most of his childhood was filled with storage boxes, clearly marked as to who they belonged to, and a few disassembled pieces of furniture, waiting for the days when his siblings decided they wanted those things.

He opened a box labeled _James_ and peered in. Old Star Wars toys. Huh. He took out his phone and thumbed Tony a text message. _Ds Peter like Star Wars?_

Barely into the second row of boxes, Bucky found the Christmas decorations. Some of them had been put aside for when Bucky had his own family -- that was a theory -- and wanted any of them. But most of them were just labeled _Barnes’ Christmas_. He had to drag a box off the top, peer in it, and set it aside. The labels were less accurate for the holiday decorations.

One box of old, handmade ornaments that he remembered making in second and third grade, and then his various brothers’ and sisters’ attempts at crafts. Sharon had done a whole set of preserved cookies, complete with bows and sprinkles and then shellacked. He remembered thinking that was unfair when he was thirteen, and it was still unfair now. Why make a cookie if no one could eat it?

He had shifted one stack almost completely before the phone rang.

“What are you doing at the house?” Becca demanded.

“What are you doing awake in the middle of the night?” Bucky demanded right back, because it was after midnight in Ireland.

“Scott and me and Sharon and Steve decided to go pubbing,” Becca said.

“And how the fuck did you know where I was?”

“I set up the app for the home security system,” Becca said, sounding smug. “It let me know someone used your code to go inside, so I thought I’d call and make sure it was you.”

“Nosy brat,” Bucky said.

“Doesn’t answer my question,” Becca said. “What are you doing over there?”

“Looking for the Nativity,” Bucky said. “Do you know which box it’s in?”

“I think it’s in the bottom box,” she said, because of course it would be. “Why do--”

His phone buzzed against his ear. Text message. “Gotta go, Bex,” he said, and hung up on her, because it was his sister, and he didn’t really want to answer questions right now.

_Like all excellent kids, Peter loves SW._

_Why?_

_Recipe I found,_ Bucky texted back. Which wasn’t entirely a lie, but he didn’t want Tony to know he was over digging around in his parents’ equivalent of an attic. 

_Gingerbread wookies._

A minute later, Tony responded with, _Beats the hell out of reindeer and santas!_ That was followed up with a happy emoji with its tongue out.

Aaah, there was the box with the Nativity, all the animals and angels, wise men and little drummer boys, and Mary and her Divine Child, all wrapped up neatly and tucked into the wooden creche.

Bucky put the boxes back, except for the Nativity, then added the Falcon and a handful of old style Kenner action figures to the box. 

_Be home in about hr or so. Wnt takeaway and we can start cookies? Fudge mayb?_

_Sounds great. Have to decide on dinner tho. P wants Indian, M wants cheeseburgers._

_McD, r In-n-out? In Flatbush. Both rt around the corner._

_In-n-out_ , Tony sent back right away. _You pick up cheeseburgers, I’ll order Indian delivery?_

_::thumbs up emoji::_

Bucky tucked the bin into his enormous Ikea bag, which would be bulky but manageable, locked up, and ignored several texts from his sister as he walked over to the burger place. Once he ordered his food, he called an Uber. Trying to get the Ikea bag on the subway was not going to be fun.

And he’d planned ahead, too, so he had an insulated bag to carry dinner in. Reheating cheeseburgers was theoretically possible, but not recommended. Once in the Uber, he closed his eyes and tried to ignore New York city driving. The Uber driver, Bucky reminded himself, was a professional.

His phone buzzed several more times, his sister texting him, more and more drunkenly, and sending pictures of the four of them at the pub. Steve was drinking something that looked like two airplane bottles of Jamison’s sticking out of a frozen something-- beer slushie? Ug. Who would even… _yuck_.

He texted the picture over to Tony. _Brothers in law and sisters Irish Pubbing. Dunno if I’m jealous or happy not to be there._

_I have some Irish whisky if you want to join in from afar_ , Tony’s response came back.

_Square deal._

Bucky texted back and forth with Tony for a bit longer, then switched to giving his sister exactly no details about whether or not he was, in fact, dating Tony Stark.

Mostly because he didn’t _know_. 

They hadn’t really discussed it like dating, dating, but they were certainly acting like… they had some sort of relationship.

_There’s the building. Up in five._

_We’re waiting with bells on. Possibly literally._

_Interesting mental picture._

And like five seconds after sending it, Bucky winced. He should not have said that, like, at all, because it was super flirty, and maybe edging toward too risque and--

_I didn’t say what the bells were on. ::wink emoji::_

Bucky swiped himself into the building and headed up to the penthouse. He balanced his bags carefully and rapped a few times on the door, waiting for--

“Hi, Mr. Bucky!” Morgan to open the door and shriek with glee. “D’joo bring me a cheeseburger?”

“I did,” Bucky said. “Is that a good toll for the door guard, do you think?”

“Mr. Bucky!” Peter pranced across the room toward the door. He was, in fact, wearing bracelets of jingle bells around his wrists and ankles. “Look what we got!”

Tony’s head peered around the corner from the kitchen. “Back up and let him _come in_ ; were you two raised by wolves?” He disappeared briefly, then came out holding a rocks glass with a whiskey stone resting at the bottom of several fingers of rich amber liquid. He held it out. “Trade you for the burgers.”

Then he noticed the huge Ikea bag. “That... does not look like cheeseburgers.”

“What big eyes you have, grandma,” Bucky said, putting the insulated bag down on the table.

“Smells like cheeseburgers,” Morgan told him.

“Reindeer burgers,” Tony corrected, taking the insulated bag from Bucky with a wink. He had one of the jinglebell bracelets as well, looped through his belt.

“Nuh-uh!” Morgan protested.

“You could _get_ reindeer burgers,” Bucky said. “Not from In-and-Out, but there are places that have them. Game restaurants. I’ve had gator kabobs, and ostrige. And buffalo burgers.”

“Not on _Christmas_ ,” Morgan said decisively. “Santa needs them.”

“I have it on very good authority that Santa is outsourcing this year,” Bucky teased. “Hiring a flock of penguins, instead.” 

“Silly,” Morgan said, condescending as only a four-year-old could be. “Penguins can’t fly.”

“Well, neither can reindeer, _normally_ ,” Bucky said. “It’s a Christmas miracle thing. Santa and his twenty flying penguins.”

Morgan gave him a very dubious look, which was relieved only when Tony came back in from the kitchen with a plate in his hands. “Who ordered the cheeseburger?”

“Me! Me! Me! Me!”

Tony pretended not to see her, looking well above her head. “Hm. Did I imagine that order? Maybe I should take it back to the kitchen. Throw it out.”

“Nooooo!!!!!” Morgan started jumping up and down, waving her arms frantically.

While Tony was serving the kids, Bucky pulled out his phone and texted his sister. _I answer 1 question, if you ask Steve to draw me a picture of Santa, sleigh, and a herd of penguins pulling it. Deal?_

_I dnno wht yir up 2,_ Becca’s text came back. Bucky could practically hear the drunken slur in her voice. _But sa deal._

_I solemnly swear I am up to no good._

_ru dating tony stark?????_

Bucky chewed on his lip for a while, trying to figure out the best way to answer that without actually, you know, answering it. Or maybe, because he didn’t know the answer. He wanted it to be yes; Tony was interesting and charming, easy on the eyes, and funny. He was also rich, famous, and way out of Bucky’s league.

Which didn’t seem to matter to Tony, at least as far as--

_I’m spending Christmas with him_ Bucky answered.

_And I’m at his place now, having dinner & getting redy to bake cookies._

_Potential exists for dating._

The little ... that meant Becca was typing appeared immediately. Then disappeared. Then came back and lingered for a while. Then disappeared again. Finally, she sent, _OMFG!!!1!_

And then, _ma is gnna flip!_

Jesus Christ. _Do NOT tell Ma! I mean it, Bex, don’t._

_ug fine ur no fun._

A minute later, a photo appeared. It was drawn on a cocktail napkin and the lines were noticeably unsteady, due either to the medium or the drinking or both, but it was recognizably Santa in his sleigh, being pulled across the sky by a team of penguins. The lead penguin had a brightly glowing belly.

_Shron says: cute idea, shes gonn write a kids book, South Pole Santa_

Ha,” Bucky said. He tapped the picture -- the last thing he needed was for Tony to see the texts above it. “So, see, Morg, Santa and his penguins. It’s concept art.” He showed his phone to her.

Morgan giggled at the picture. “Show Mr. Tony!”

“Ohh, is that vindaloo?” Bucky asked, leaning over the table to look at the various dishes Tony was setting out. “Yeah, my brother-in-law is an artist, my sister Sharon who he’s married to, she writes novels. Mysteries, most of the time, but she likes the idea, she’s thinking about writing a kid’s story.” He flipped the phone to show the art, just in time for more texts to come in from Becca that he hastily marked as read, because whatever she was saying, it probably wasn’t something he wanted Tony reading.

Tony didn’t seem to notice the texts, thank god. “Oh, wow, did he just do that now while I was setting out dinner? That’s impressive. Cute as heck, too. I like Rudolph, there.”

“He’s at least two and a half sheets to the wind, too,” Bucky said. “Give him time, he’ll come up with a whole series of them, if the idea catches his fancy. He used to draw stuff on my lunch bag, when we were growing up.” 

_Eating._

He tucked his phone away. Becca could wait for him to get some calories before they started texting again. Or she passed out. That could happen. It had been known to happen before.

Tony waved at the table. “Pick a chair, any chair, though you’ll probably want to leave the one with the booster for Morgan.” Bit by bit, he managed to corral the children into chairs and put together plates for them.

“This’s awesome,” Peter said through a mostly-full mouth. “Las’ year, we jus’ had boring ham for Christmas Eve dinner, and May got out her nice plates and stuff so we had to act all _grownup_.” He made a disgusted face.

“There are some times when fancy plates and grownup manners are appropriate,” Bucky said, making a face because oh, god, he sounded like his Ma. “Sometimes, it’s even _fun_.”

Peter gave him the most dubious look an eight-year-old could muster. “Like when?” he challenged.

“Dates,” Bucky said, promptly. “Dress up nice, go out, try to impress the guy-- or girl -- that you like. Going to the theater is nice. Weddings are nice, and also often fancy.”

“Yuck,” Peter pronounced. “There’s too much kissing at weddings.”

“I usually think there’s just enough kissin’ at weddings,” Bucky said. “And you know, for a long time, people like me, an’ like your two moms, we weren’t _allowed_ to get married at all, so I think a lot of us are just so grateful that we can get married-- well, who knows, maybe you’ll feel different when you’re all grown up.”

Peter shook his head. “I’m not _never_ gonna get married.”

Tony chuckled. “You keep telling yourself that, kiddo. What about you, Morgunna, any weddings in your future?”

Morgan appeared to give it some serious thought, then nodded. “But it has to be somebody rich.”

“That’s valid,” Bucky declared. “And it’s okay, if you want to get married, or you don’t. Or you meet someone, or you don’t. Or you date completely the wrong people for a while, or marry your high school sweetheart and celebrate fifty years together. All those are good choices, as long as it’s what makes you happiest. All right, enough lecture, my God, I sound like my guidance counselor.”

***

After dinner, and the first batch of cookies had gone into the oven, Bucky finally stopped being coy about what was hiding in his Ikea bag. First he handed off an ancient plastic Millennium Falcon and a few action figures to Peter and Morgan and cautioned them to “play gently.”

Peter’s eyes got huge and he clutched the Falcon like a precious treasure while Morgan immediately started digging the (sadly few) female action figures out of the little pile. “Well, that explains that text,” Tony said. “Are you sure it’s okay for them to be playing with it?” None of the toys were collector-quality -- they all showed signs of having been played with a great deal -- but sometimes the best-loved toys were the hardest to let go.

“Oh, sure,” Bucky said, easily. “That’s what toys are for, right? Couple of my nieces and nephews used to play with ‘em, but either they’re too old, too young, or too cool for nerd toys right now, depending on which one you ask.”

“If you’re sure,” Tony said. “What else do you have in there? An AT-AT?”

“Nah,” Bucky said, and then he pulled out a few items swaddled in what looked like yards and yards of ancient toilet paper. He unwrapped one and sat a ceramic man wearing red robes. “Caspar.” Another figure was placed on the table, wearing deep green robes, “Balthasar, and--” the last one was dressed in yellow. “Melchior. The three wise men, who brought gifts.”

“Oh my god.” Laughter was bubbling up Tony’s chest, warm and sweet. “You brought the unicorn? I have to see it! Where is he?”

“Oh, he’s a little further down in the box--” Bucky joked, picking through the assorted figurines. Three camels, a pile of gifts, one donkey, a dozen or more sheep -- including a fat, fluffy little black one -- shepherds, and Joseph. “One year, Mary went missing, and Ma used to joke that she had the baby and then fuc-- er, went off to have a spa day or something.”

The laughter bubbled over. “I can’t say I’d blame her. Who’d want all these... _creatures_ in their postpartum recovery room?”

Finally, Bucky paused, holding a package. “This one,” he said, and then handed it over to Tony, still wrapped. 

Tony glanced at Bucky’s expression, but he seemed to be simply waiting gleefully for the reveal, so Tony very carefully unwrapped it, layer by fragile layer, to reveal...

The unicorn only barely resembled an animal at all, in that it had four legs, a barrel-like torso, neck and head. One horn, but it wasn’t poking out from the center; instead it was off to the left. And drooping, besides. The face sort of suggested a cow, or maybe a horse. But only if you squinted and had a vivid imagination.

The whole thing was painted brown, aside from the feet which were inexplicably green. And it was wearing a little hand-crafted puffball wreath around its neck, dotted with ancient glitter.

“Uh. Well. That certainly is... a thing.” Tony turned it over in his hands, inspecting it from every angle. “Wow.” He was laughing again. He wasn’t sure when he’d last laughed this much, this freely. “I mean... wow.”

“Yeah, I know, right?” Bucky said. “I think Ma was being kind, calling it a unicorn. I mean, the only excuse I have for how bad it was is that I was not a particularly crafty sort of person, and this was my first project. My later coffee mugs and vases and -- well, I’ve done some ceramics since then, and they’re much better than this one, I promise.”

“I should hope so,” Tony said. “I’m impressed you stayed with it.”

“Why, because this was bad?” Bucky tipped his eyes to one side, not quite a roll. “That’s part of the fun, right? Getting better at things? All my sisters do crafty stuff, or art, or something, and Steve… well, he wasn’t what you’d call a sports guy. So, we did other stuff. I mean, I played baseball, and did welterweight boxing for a while.” He held up his arm and stretched the metal fingers. “They don’t let me compete for that, anymore. Oddly enough, I’m better at it, now.” 

“Better at which? Boxing, or ceramics?” Tony turned the little cow-unicorn-creature over in his hands again, then carefully set it with the rest of the nativity, in pride of place right next to the manger.

“Boxing,” Bucky said. “Stopped doing ceramics in favor of 3D animation and rendering. I wanted to work for Pixar. Hah, never happened, but it was still fun.”

“That does sound fun,” Tony allowed. In the kitchen, the timer went off, so Tony turned back that way to take the cookies from the oven. “How’d you end up in... what do you do? Server upkeep?”

“Uh, well, I joined the military to get money for college and after I was discharged, one of my Army buddies had a contact, who was looking. So, I did school part time, worked night shift server operations. Weirdly enough, I’ve been there ever since. Just moved up, kinda gradually. Wherever they needed help, or there was a slot open.”

“Huh.” Tony pulled the tray from the oven and only then realized he’d left the spatula on the far side of the kitchen. “Can you hand me the-- Thanks. It’s kind of rare to find someone in I.T. who doesn’t just hop jobs every couple of years.”

“Well, the company’s been bought out like eight times now, so I keep changing letterhead, at least. But the building is the same. Most of the time, it’s nice enough. When I don’t do completely stupid shi-- stuff.”

Tony shot a grin at him. He had the same difficulty keeping his language under control when he had the kids with him, sometimes. “Into every job some stupid stuff must fall,” he said.

“Yeah, you know it,” Bucky said. He hovered over Tony’s shoulder for a moment, then as soon as the cookie was on the cooling rack, he snitched it, the still-warm dough crumbling into pieces as he hissed, “Hot, hot, hot,” and stuffed it into his mouth anyway, following it with a gulp of his soda. “Painful, but worth it.”

“That’s what he said,” Tony quipped. He finished unloading the tray of cookies, then turned to dish out another batch. The kids, completely enamored of the Star Wars toys, seemed to have entirely abandoned the entire cookie project. “I guess it’s down to me and you now.”

“They’ll perk up soon enough, when it’s time to get Santa’s plate out,” Bucky predicted. He stole another cookie, this one probably a little less blistering. “Try one, they came out pretty good.” He offered Tony half the broken cookie, holding it out for him.

Tony took the cookie and bit into it. Warm and melty and verging on too sweet, it was fantastic. “It’s like the Platonic ideal of cookie,” Tony said when he’d swallowed. “I’m going to live on just these now.” He ate the rest of his piece before putting the new batch into the oven and setting the timer. “Santa gets his own plate?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “It’s his reward for all the toy delivering. Cookies, milk, sometimes a carrot for the reindeers. Did you not… do any of this stuff when you were a kid?”

Tony snorted. “I’d never heard of Santa until I went to boarding school. My dad didn’t believe in perpetuating fantasy, and whatever my mom thought, she didn’t cross him. Christmas was always just a PR opp, really.”

How had Tony not noticed that Bucky’s eyes were as blue as rainclouds. “Wow, that’s… so messed up. I mean, it’s one thing to be a Grinch, but it’s another thing entirely to be an ass about it. If you’re not one of the faithful -- and even if you are -- Christmas is about _kids_. About joy. About making the people you love feel cherished and happy. You shouldn’t take that away from someone.”

Tony wanted, suddenly and very badly, to kiss Bucky. Of course, he wasn’t sure it would be welcome -- though at least it had been confirmed that Bucky might swing that way. And the kids were still running around, shouting happily at each other, playing some kind of game with the toys Bucky had brought for them to play with. He probably stared at Bucky’s mouth for just a little too long before turning to check on the cookies. “Yes, well,” he covered. “Bold words for someone who wanted all the music to just stop.”

“That’s fair,” Bucky said. “And we all get tired of the Good Will to Men when there’s so little substance behind it. But I was bein’ an ass, and at least I have good Christmas memories. Sounds like you ain’t got any, and that… well, that’s not fair. So, we do it right, for you, for this year. Yeah?” He looked a combination of sheepish and chagrined and eager at the same time, which was complicated, and how had Tony found himself an expert on Bucky Barnes’ emotionally available face?

“I... sure,” Tony said. “Whatever _right_ means, anyway. I’m enjoying what we’ve got so far, mostly.” He pointed at Bucky. “The store, that was not fun.”

“Well, no, usually not,” Bucky admitted. “I mean, it can be, but usually not when you wait until the last minute. I do a lot of my shopping online these days, but sometimes going to a craft fair, or a brick-and-mortar just to see what a thing looks like, feels like, can give you ideas. It’s like doing warm ups, or something. It’s not necessarily fun, but getting just the Right Present for someone you care about? That can make all the pain and inconvenience of it worthwhile. Too many people have made the holidays _mercenary_ , and-- I don’t know, we let them. But it doesn’t have to be like that.”

Tony knew that. Of course he knew that; he’d had that joy before, picking out dumb souvenirs just to hear Rhodey laugh, or seeing the glow of pleasure in Pepper’s face when she’d opened her wedding gift from him.

He’d just never really thought about it as it applied to _Christmas_. “Huh.” He thought about that for a minute, then said, “Okay. How do we do Christmas right, then?”

“Okay, so we’re doing pretty good so far,” Bucky said. “An’ we’ll have a few cookies, and maybe watch something old and sentimental. Miracle on 34th, or the Grinch, an’ put out cookies for Santa, and send the kids off to bed. And then I’ll show you the rest of it.”

The rest of it? That could not _possibly_ mean what Tony’s brain wanted him to think it meant. Could it? No. _Get ahold of yourself,_ Tony chided internally. “The rest of it,” he repeated. “Sure, okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Gingerbread wookies](https://rosannapansino.com/blogs/recipes/star-wars-gingerbread-wookiee-cookies).


	6. Chapter 6

It had been quite a while since Bucky had to do any planning for Christmas beyond show up. But while Tony was baking cookies, Bucky was putting together a timed list. When they wanted to eat and-- "hey, how many sticks of butter do we have left, and do you own a Bundt pan?"

“What the fu...dge is a bundt pan? And it looks like we have... two sticks of butter left.”

"Great. Well, I'll go get mine," Bucky said. "It's a cake pan with ridges. And a hole in the middle. So the cake cooks evenly. I'll show you."

While he was downstairs, he fielded two more texts from Becca and one from Sharon for fuck's sake, grabbed the pound of butter he had in his own fridge just in case, and a half jar of marachino cherries.

"Breakfast for tomorrow," Bucky announced when he came back in. "Or it will be when I make it."

“Butter and cocktail cherries?” Tony asked, looking amused. “Are we having hot toddies for breakfast?”

"Ye of little faith," Bucky teased, but he'd grown up with a wreath cake for breakfast and he could bake one from memory.

“I never argue with people who are offering to provide me with food I don’t have to work for,” Tony said, shuffling cookies around on the cooling rack.

Morgan ran into the kitchen and brandished Bucky’s old Darth Vader action figure. “Hand over th’ cookies, rebel scum!”

Bucky snickered as Tony dutifully passed out wookies. "I kinda love these kids."

“They’re pretty awesome,” Tony agreed. “I’ve threatened to steal them a few times.”

Bucky kneaded dough and braided it, making a ring inside the Bundt pan. A heavy hand with the cinnamon, it would be topped with royal icing and cherries.

"So… what do you want for Christmas?" Bucky asked. "Like, if you could have anything. Probably not something that comes from Target, since, you know, you're Tony Stark and you could probably _buy_ the Target. Do you have anything that you want, for you? I won't laugh."

Tony leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Bucky make the cake. He propped his hands behind him, which made the muscles in his arms bunch and flex. “Given that it’s Christmas Eve and I don’t think even Amazon Prime can get anything here in time for morning, it’s kind of moot, isn’t it?” His eyes were on Bucky’s hands, carefully twisting the dough. “Am I supposed to say something like _world peace_ or _true love_? I don’t know. I want a whole day where no one gives a shit that I’m _Tony Stark_.” He put sarcastic finger-quotes around the name.

"I don't," Bucky said, a little defensively. "I mean, I do because you're an interesting person, but I didn't even _know_ until I called your tree place. I'm not your friend because you're Tony Stark. I'm your friend because you looked like you needed one. I can't even imagine what sort of burden that has to be, being Tony Stark."

Tony looked at him, almost sharply, like he didn’t quite believe what Bucky was saying. “What, seriously? You didn’t-- Huh. That’s. That’s nice, actually.” He smirked a little. “Your _sister_ knew who I was.”

“Trust me, I’m aware,” Bucky said. He almost ran his hands through his hair in frustration and then realized they were covered with dough. “But you know, you’re my friend Tony, and to the kids, you’re the rebel scum holding out on the cookies, so-- Merry Christmas? It’s not much, but… you can just be you, and it’s okay.”

Tony looked startled, and then took a breath and let it out very slowly, looking from Bucky to the living room where the kids were staging a major battle, and a smile spread across his face, real and happy and relaxed. It was the most goddamn gorgeous thing Bucky had seen in... years, probably. “Yeah,” he said. “Okay. Thanks.” He shook himself, a little, and then cocked his head. “What do _you_ want?”

“Would it be super cheesy to say world peace and true love?” Bucky batted his eyelashes at Tony. “I mean, there are things I want, and stuff I need -- more obnoxious socks, it’s a weird thing I do, to be a little bit rebellious under my work clothes, I wear stupid colorful socks -- but really, this. This is nice, Tony. Being able to help you out, have a tree and a turkey. I mean, my family loves me, I know they do. But they don’t really… need me. Does that make sense? Becca’s more reliable; Sharon’s constantly over at Ma’s; if she needs handiwork done, Andrew’s ten times better at that stuff than I am. I’m just… oldest of seven. Kinda superfluous, really. It’s nice. To be _necessary_ , even if just for a few days.” 

“You are one hundred percent necessary here,” Tony said. “I’m serious, what I know about how to celebrate Christmas could fit in a rocks glass, and I absolutely would have hated ruining it for the kids. They don’t deserve that. You saved us.” He picked up a mostly-cooled wookie and held it up as if he were toasting Bucky with it. “All of us.” And then he bit off the wookie’s arm.

“So, Merry Christmas to both of us,” Bucky said. “Okay, Sith Lords, get your butts in here and pick out cookies for Santa. And then we’ll watch _Grinch Who Stole Christmas_ , and then children must go off to bed. Are we in accord here?”

After asking -- because of course she did -- what "in accord" meant, Morgan agreed. Peter looked like he might be too cool or too old for the Grinch, but agreed anyway. It was getting late, however, and the kids had been running Tony ragged all day, so they were only about halfway through the movie when Morgan was fast asleep on Tony’s chest, and Peter was blinking sleepily, still clutching the Han Solo figure in one hand, forcing himself to stay awake longer than his baby sister.

Even Tony was dozing as the movie wound down, and the Grinch’s heart grew three sizes. Bucky spent the last several minutes as the Whos sang _Fa Who Foraze_ just watching Tony sleep, and felt like maybe the Grinch wasn’t the only one with a case of cardio expansion.

It felt… like _family_.

[ ](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B8kfZbdEvY5WcjY4VzU0SG5oM2VqM0JSWldYZUtuVHFyMzY4)

***

Tony wasn’t entirely asleep, but he was drifting on the edge of it, half-listening to the movie and enjoying the sleepy warmth that was the rarity of a quiet and still Morgan. Bucky’s breathing was just audible in the quiet moments of the show, and that was oddly comforting. Or maybe not so odd.

He was vaguely aware of the movie ending, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to move until the couch shifted as Bucky got up and started gently prodding Peter awake enough to stumble back to the kids’ room. Tony peeled open an eye, and Bucky was the first thing he saw, crouched beside Peter and talking very quietly. They’d turned the lights down for the movie, so everything was bathed in the soft glow of the lights on the Christmas tree, somehow softer and sweeter and more magical than normal.

Peter reluctantly sat up and let Bucky pull him to his feet before he started shuffling down the hall. Tony wrapped his arms more securely around Morgan and sat up, slowly, hoping not to wake her.

“I was startin’ to think I’d have t’ carry her _an’_ you,” Bucky teased, his voice low and somehow sultry.

Tony huffed a quiet laugh. “You can try, if you want,” he teased back, but rocked to his feet and carried Morgan to bed.

Peter had already crawled into bed, still fully-dressed. He blinked muzzily as Tony came into the room, but by the time Tony had laid her on her cot and pulled the blanket over her, Peter was fast asleep again.

Tony brushed his hand over the boy’s hair fondly, then slipped out of the room, closing the door soundlessly behind him. His heart thumped a couple of times when he remembered Bucky promising to show him “the rest of it.” _Not that,_ he reminded himself firmly, but strangely, he didn’t even mind. He was just... eager to spend more time with Bucky, however he could get it.

By the time he got back out there, the “rest of it” was spread all over the living room floor. A few gifts from Pepper and May, and their Santa Claus gifts that had arrived in the mail, and a few stockings, probably from Target, since Bucky had mentioned it, and Tony had never seen them before. Also, they weren’t particularly elaborate, or even personalized, which Tony felt certain that Pepper probably had on hand somewhere.

Bucky had taken Morgan’s dollhouse from Santa and was assembling it. “Come on, Mr. Fancy Engineer. You can put Peter’s bike together.”

“Yeah, sure,” Tony agreed. He sliced open the box and started laying out the parts. “I sure hope Pep and May have some idea how they’re getting this stuff home when they get back. It’s going to take up _way_ more space than they have in the trunk of their car.”

“If they need it, I can borrow a pickup truck,” Bucky said with a shrug. “I don’t know why Clint has one in the city, but he’s from Iowa, and I think it’s mandatory to own.”

He nudged the Santa plate between them. “I freshened up your drink, but don’t get too carried away or the handle bars will end up upside down.”

Tony looked at the pieces in front of him and snorted. “I could build this drunk _and blindfolded_ ,” he said. “They’ve already done the tricky parts; it’s just bolting the whole thing together.” He bit the arms off a wookie, though, and didn’t reach for his drink until he’d gotten the frame assembled.

“I have built more plastic doll houses and Let’s Pretend kitchens in my life for a man who ain’t got kids of his own, than anyone who’s not employed at the North Pole should,” Bucky said, poking the door mechanism with the provided allen wrench. “I won’t ask about your family’s Christmases, so tell me about Pepper. How’d you meet her?”

“Uh... She was hired through regular channels to work in the Finance department. Worked there for, oh, I don’t know, maybe six months? And she spotted what looked like a really strange estimate, decided to trace it down and make sure it was really correct. Which... it wasn’t. Some bozo had transposed a couple of figures _and_ added an order of magnitude in there somewhere, and it was going to be a disaster.”

Tony balanced the bike between his knees while he fastened the back wheel to the frame. “That bozo, however, was me. And Pepper’s boss did not want to risk getting fired by telling me that my math was bad. Nor did _his_ boss. And so on up the chain, and after a solid two weeks of trying to get _someone_ to come to me to get the correct figures, Pepper took matters into her own hands and marched up into my office, filesheets in her hands. Brushed off the executive suite receptionist -- _she_ got fired; doorkeeping is supposed to be one of the primary jobs there -- and stomped right into my office and threw the papers down on my desk and demanded to know what the hell I was thinking.” Tony smiled nostalgically.

“She told me later that she was actually terrified and one hundred percent positive that she was about to be out on her ass without so much as a reference, but it didn’t show at the time. All I could see was this spitfire of a woman ready to call me out on my idiocy. So I told her she was my new PA and her first job would be to take the corrected numbers back down to Finance.”

“Someone who didn’t give a shit that you were Tony Stark,” Bucky murmured. He dipped one of his cookies into the scotch. “And she trusts you with her kids. Which is huge. If you were just her boss, I mean, I assume you pay her well enough that she could hire a nanny if she needed to. But she’d rather they stay here, with someone they know. Who loves them.”

Tony nodded. “Pepper is one of two people in the world who knows who I am and likes me anyway.” He paused. “Three, now, I guess.” He toasted Bucky with his glass before sitting on the floor to adjust the chain and gears. “The other being my best friend from college, Rhodey. But he’s in the Air Force, so I only get to see him maybe once a year.”

Rhodey had been trying to get Tony to go home with him for Christmas since they’d been freshmen together. He was going to have _so many_ words for Tony when he found out someone else had finally managed it. Tony smiled a little in anticipation.

“You don’t really seem that unlikeable to me.” Bucky said, making a face. “People can be really superficial sometimes, I think. They look at you and see Tony Stark and all their notions that came with that. I just saw a funny, super hot guy in the elevator, playing a prank. Kinda awesome, if I haven’t said so before.” 

_Super hot?_ Tony’s heart kicked into overdrive again. He leaned Peter’s bike against the wall -- he could finish putting the kickstand on later -- and said, “So... if I’m reading this completely wrong, then just say so, no harm no foul, but... Can I kiss you?”

“Keep lookin’ at me like that, an’ I’d say there’s a pretty good chance that you can,” Bucky said. His eyes were suddenly smoky grey and intent. “The question is, are you gonna?”

“You know, I think I am.” Tony leaned into Bucky’s space the way he’d been wanting to do for the whole day, cupped Bucky’s jaw and sank his fingers into that thick, dark hair, and then closed the rest of the space between them, brushing his lips against Bucky’s lightly once, twice, before coming back in for something firmer, more lush and warm and electric.

Bucky shifted, just a little, until he was kneeling, leaning into Tony’s kiss, one hand on the floor for balance, the other coming up to cup Tony’s jaw, as if to keep Tony’s mouth right where he wanted it. His breath was a puff of cooler air against Tony’s cheek, the ends of his little-too-long for professionalism hair tickling at Tony’s skin. His lips were soft, warm, plush, and then his tongue flicked out to tease at the crease of Tony’s mouth.

Tony’s breath slid out on a soft moan and he opened to it, letting Bucky in, tasting Bucky’s mouth, too, scotch and gingerbread, heat curling warm in Tony’s chest and pooling lower with each flick of tongue or soft gasp of breath.

Bucky was panting for breath, neck flushed with heat, his eyelashes fluttering a bit as he pulled back to look at Tony as if he was seeing his own, personal, Christmas miracle. “Well, appears you can, in fact,” Bucky said. “And a damn fine job of it, too.”

“Well, it’s important to have skilled and enthusiastic support for that kind of job,” Tony returned, a little breathless himself. “Is it too late to amend my Christmas list?”

Bucky made a show of checking the time on his watch. “Christmas ain’t here yet,” he said.

“Oh, good. Because I’d like lots more of that, please.”

“I appear to have a ready supply on hand,” Bucky said, nodding sagely. “It’s a renewable resource an’ everything.”

He let his hand slip to the back of Tony’s neck and pulled him in, light and eager. Not quite slotting their mouths together, but letting their breath mingle, the heat of their bodies stir between them.

Tony shuddered with the depth of his _wanting_ , swaying forward to press their bodies together, feeling the lean, muscular strength of Bucky against him. He was clutching at Bucky’s shirt but couldn’t seem to relax. He brushed their mouths together and then followed the line of Bucky’s lip down to nuzzle along Bucky’s jaw, seeking tender and sensitive spots, needing to make Bucky as hungry for this as he was.

Bucky made a soft, needy sound, and he took possession of Tony’s mouth, kissing him, hot, wet, thorough, his thumb rubbing teasing little circles on Tony’s jaw. “Yeah, that’s…” he managed, before delving in again, and Tony found himself on the floor, flat on his back with Bucky hovering over him, a few pieces of leftover toy poking him, but not so uncomfortable that he was going to _stop_.

He put his hands flat on Bucky’s chest and slid them up over Bucky’s shoulders, reveling in the feel of muscle and the fast, hard pounding of Bucky’s heart. “God, you’re gorgeous,” he breathed, and pulled Bucky down for another kiss.

Bucky nuzzled at Tony’s jaw, at his ear, and then suddenly yelped. “Jesus,” he complained, shifted so he wasn’t laying quite so much _on_ Tony (which at least let Tony sweep a hand under him to move the toy). “Sorry, my phone--” Bucky scrambled in his back pocket for the buzzing thing. Tony assumed he was going to thumb it off and perhaps even toss it aside, but instead, “Hey Ma,” Bucky said into the phone. “You’re up early?” He put his hand over the mic. “Hang on, _sorry_ , it’s my mother. It’s _Christmas_.”

Tony nodded. He hadn’t expected Bucky’s family to call while it was the middle of the night in Ireland, but even if his own family hadn’t been close and warm, he’d seen those sorts of families since. He wriggled a little to get rid of any other wayward toy parts, and let himself just look at Bucky while he waited, free to let his desire show.

“Oh, she did, did she?” Bucky said. “Tell her she’s absolutely not my favorite sister any more. No, no, she’s replaced-- because I _don’t know_ , Ma. No, he’s not-- well, I mean. It’s…” Bucky glanced at Tony, face going full on beet red. “I’m not in third grade, Mother.”

Ah. The nosy sister had spilled the beans -- or whatever she thought the beans were, given that this was all of ten minutes old. Tony smirked at Bucky, leaned up to kiss his cheek, and squirmed back until he could sit up. He didn’t know Bucky’s Ma, but if she was anything like Rhodey’s mom, this could take a while.

“Ma,” Bucky started, and then stopped. Tony could hear someone on the other end of the call, female, feisty, but not really make out any particular words, aside from sometimes _Jimmie._ “Yes. No, I’m not alone, actually. I’m having Christmas with-- yes, with Tony. Oh, my God, what, did Becca stagger in from the bar to-- oh, he did? _Really?_ Yeah, Steve’s a punk. Ok, seriously, all of you need to stop. I will tell you what’s going on when there’s something to tell--” More squawking and Bucky winced at the phone, squinching up one eye. “You are not exactly makin’ me look good right now.”

Tony laughed softly. He hadn’t yet seen Bucky look anything _other_ than good, to tell the truth, but he wasn’t foolish enough to try to interrupt Bucky’s mother, either. As long as Bucky was going to be trying to convince his nosy family to be less nosy, he might as well finish putting Peter’s bike together. He winked at Bucky and scooted over to resume the project.

“Oh, is she?” Bucky said. “Poor kid, but I appreciate the sentiment. No, Buchanan is not a reasonable thing to name anyone, especially as a first name, my god, at least hide it in the middle where no one has to see it. Well, tell Kit thanks, I appreciate the-- okay, she’ll know I’m lying and she’s going to do it anyway--”

Bucky gave Tony a wink, and ran his hand down the curve of Tony’s back. _Sorry_ , he mouthed, apparently listening to his mother give him all the gossip for the Irish side of the family. 

Tony waved it off with a smile. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t _rather_ be stretched out on the floor, making out with Bucky, but Bucky’s family was important, obviously. And there was only so far that making out was going to get, anyway, with the kids in the house.

It was strange, how content he felt, tinkering with the bike and listening as Bucky’s half-finished sentences and fond exasperation washed over him.

“Okay, okay, Ma, yeah, we can do the family pass-round after dinner tomorrow,” Bucky said. “Merry Christ-- yeah, okay, I’ll ask him. But don’t say anything awful, okay? Promise.”

Bucky tapped Tony’s shoulder with the phone. “Would you say hi and Merry Christmas to my ma? Her name’s Winnifred Barnes, and I don’t think she entirely believes me.”

Tony chuckled a little and reached for the phone, drawing his public persona on like an old coat. “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Barnes. Have you been a good girl this year?”

“Rarely good,” she said, sounding almost like a female version of Bucky in his flirty-voice. “And I left my girlhood behind many years ago, thank Christ. Merry Christmas to you, Mr. Stark, and thank you, very much.”

Tony blinked, nonplussed. “For what?”

“I was worried about Jimmie, bein’ alone for the holidays, poor boy,” she said. “And it makes me easier in my mind to know he’s got someone to spend it with. So, thank you. And I’ll let you go now, because I can see my son staring at the phone like he’s going to glare at me clear to Dublin.”

Tony laughed, because Bucky was indeed glowering at the phone, as if he could keep his mother from saying anything embarrassing by sheer force of will. “He’s been a big help to me,” Tony said, “and I’m more than delighted to keep him company for the holiday. You have a happy Christmas, now, Mrs. Barnes.”

Bucky held out his hand for the phone. “All right, you’ve had your fun. G’nite Ma. Merry Christmas. I love you. Yeah. _Mwah_.”

Tony grinned as he finished tightening the last set of bolts. “She sounds like a lovely person.”

“Liar,” Bucky said. “She’s meddlesome and as Irish as Saint Patrick, and she thinks she’s entitled to know everything about all of her kids at all times. I’d say she means well, but I’m not quite sure she does.”

“I expect she means well for her family, at least,” Tony said. He picked up the bit of toy he’d been lying on earlier -- it looked like a piece of framing for the dollhouse -- and handed it to Bucky.

“Yeah, back to work, no more bad Santa,” Bucky said. “Appealing as the idea sounded, probably best to-- you know. Not. Get too busy with little pitchers in the other room.”

Tony nodded. “Yeah, I had that same thought, while you were on the phone. They’re early risers. But we can, uh, continue that later?”

“That’s a deal,” Bucky said. “And don’t mind Ma, any. She hears any of her kids are interested, she starts making _plans and schemes_. And with all of ‘em paired off -- even Rachel has a boyfriend, and she’s only eighteen -- I get the brunt of it these days.”

“It’s kind of sweet,” Tony offered. “In a totally nosy way.”

Bucky gave him a doubtful look, but went back to building the dollhouse. Finally finished, he packed up the stockings and put them near the tree. “I’ll… uh, well, put the cake into the oven straight from the fridge, about forty minutes or so before you want to eat. Or, just text me when you all get up?”

Tony wanted to ask Bucky to stay -- even just to curl together and sleep -- but the kids would definitely notice that, and Tony didn’t need them spilling to Pepper and May before he’d figured out, for himself, what this was going to be. So he just nodded and pulled Bucky in for a light, if slightly lingering, kiss. “I’ll let you know when we’re up; you come on up whenever you’re ready.”

“Merry Christmas,” Bucky said. And then let himself out, the door shutting behind him with a soft click.


	7. Chapter 7

Bucky was having one of those weird dreams where he wasn’t sure if he was awake, and maybe tripping out on some of those really great drugs they’d given him after he lost his arm, or if he was asleep and dreaming. Or awake, remembering dreaming.

In his dream, there was a very large bumblebee, sort of cute, and unnerving and about the size of a golden retriever.

Also, it was talking with Tony’s voice, which seemed very strange and there was something that--

The door clicked open, and Bucky heard someone shush someone else.

He was awake.

Immediately, completely, in a cold sweat, already reaching for the sidearm--

\--that he didn’t fucking keep in the bedside drawer because he wasn’t an idiot--

“Shhhh, Peter!”

“I didn’t--!” The voice suddenly lowered to a furious whisper, too low for Bucky to make out the words, but more than loud enough to be heard. The smell of warm bread and cinnamon tickled his nose.

Bucky let out a long breath, willing himself to relax. _Jesus Christ_. 

Well, yeah. Reason for the season and all that. 

Another breath and he lay back on the bed, because he knew -- _knew_ , mind you, from years of being an uncle -- what was going to happen next. He pulled as much of the blankets around him as possible, because while he did not sleep without PJs on when he was at his mom’s place, he had not been expecting a -- what the hell time was it anyway? -- morning assault, and so he was stark naked.

Ha, pun.

Oh, God, he _wished_ , but that was something that could wait, and right now, he was naked under the blankets and there was not time to--

The door opened, and two very energetic monsters came barreling into his bedroom.

“Merry Christmas!” they both bellowed. Peter managed a leap onto Bucky’s bed, landing with a bounce, while Morgan had to scale the side. She climbed on top of him. “Mr. Bucky, wake up! It’s Christmas! Santa came!”

“I put them off as long as I could,” Tony said from the doorway, sounding more amused than apologetic. “But they didn’t want to _do Christmas_ without you.”

Bucky made a show of trying to pull the blanket over his head, groaning theatrically. This was made much harder by the fact that he only had one arm, and two kids. “Morning, no,” he said, firmly, if a bit muffled by his pillow. “What even time’s it?”

“About eight-thirty,” Tony said, almost drowned out by Peter’s pronouncement that it was “ _super late_ , Mr. Bucky, we’ve been up _forever!_ ”

“Too late to call Clint, I guess,” Bucky said, randomly. “Sometimes, when I’m up, real early, I call him. We were in th’ Army together, and Clint said if he never saw a sunrise again in his life, it would be too soon. So I call him, just to let him know the sun is rising.”

He ran his single hand through his hair, knowing that was making it stand up even straighter, thick and unruly stuff that it was, but if Tony didn’t run off screaming from his epic bedhead, it might be okay. He was not used to letting people see his torso and scarred up shoulder without the arm at least attached, but it was too heavy and solid to sleep with it on. It was like those weird people who could actually sleep while wearing jeans.

Morgan was clambering over him, using his legs as a jungle gym. She slid down his knee and caught herself just before tumbling all the way to the floor, and then stopped, staring. “Mr. Bucky, why’s your arm on the floor?”

“Because I was tired when I got home and I didn’t put it away like I’m s’posed to,” Bucky admitted. “Usually it goes over in the case--” He jerked his chin toward the vanity that he’d converted into a resting place, recharging station, and maintenance bay for his arm. “I have to clean it, an’ stuff, now. Probably let the battery run out, I’m not sure.”

“Oh.” Morgan considered that for a moment, her little face scrunching up in concentration. “Can we open presents first? We’ll help you!”

“Yeah!” Peter bounced a little. “Please please please!”

Bucky blinked suddenly. “How-- how did you even get in my house?” Because he did not leave the door unlocked, please God, he didn’t leave the door unlocked. If he'd done that, he’d end up in another one of those weird compulsive cycles where he had to check the door several times a night, and--

Tony held up a small screwdriver and what looked like a credit card. “Fruits of a misspent youth.”

Bucky let out a breath. “That’s either really cool, or kinda terrifying.” At least he had locked the door. “I am going to get a dog. Someone is going to buy me a puppy for Christmas.” Something to bark at the door when people were outside it. “But yeah, sure. Presents, that sounds great. Did Santa bring you anything cool?”

“I gotta _bike!_ ” Peter squealed, and Morgan launched into an exhaustive (and somewhat exhausting) description of the dollhouse.

Bucky couldn’t help smiling; kids were great. They knew what was important. Joy was simple and as uncomplicated as a pretty doll, or a fun toy, or a good book. He ruffled Morgan’s hair, noting that her pajamas had the SuperGirl logo on them. “Okay. So, presents. I-- I’m not really dressed for presents, so if… you might could step out for a bit?”

“Yep, c’mon, kids, you can help me set the table while Mr. Bucky gets dressed.” Tony clapped his hands. Morgan started to pout, but Tony cut that short with, “The sooner we get through breakfast, the sooner you can open presents.” That had both kids scrambling for the door, making Tony sidestep quickly lest he be run over.

“Can you, uh, gimme a hand here?” Bucky always _wanted_ to say that, and yet, he rarely got to. “Easier to get dressed if I have two hands, and faster to get this damn thing on if someone else does it for me.”

“Sure thing,” Tony agreed. He leaned back out the door. “I’ll be right there,” he called. “You two can do forks and spoons without me, right?” He closed the door on a chorus of indignant affirmatives, then stepped over toward the bed, bending gracefully to scoop up Bucky’s arm from the floor. “You may want to talk me through it.”

“Yep,” Bucky said. He turned the wrist, activating the LED battery display. Twenty percent. Not too bad, he could plug in. “Basically, it just slides in place. There’s a magnetic locking system. I don’t usually take the capping device off unless I need to clean it. But I have do this weird balancing thing to get it lined up when I can’t see what I’m doing, with the damn arm clamped between my thighs to hold it steady.”

“Pretend I said something suggestive about being held between your thighs,” Tony said, even as he carefully turned the arm over to examine the connection lock. He sat on the side of the bed to look at the cap.

Bucky lifted the stump, feeling the muscles pull weird, as they always did. The surgeon had to rebuild the damn thing from scratch really. There’d been multiple surgeries, but his team had done incredible work, getting him as much mobility and flexibility as they could, given what had been left of him.

He swallowed hard. He was used to people seeing his arm, his scars. But doctors, nurses, some of his fellow soldiers.

Never someone--

Well, someone he _wanted_.

It was both strange and terrible, intimate and terrifying all at the same time. “I know, it looks awful. Doesn’t hurt anymore, at least,” he said, trying to make light of it, utterly at a loss to understand Tony’s expression.

“It looks like you _survived_ ,” Tony said softly, his hand gentle as it steadied Bucky’s stump. “Glad it doesn’t hurt anymore, though. That’s good.” He slid the arm into the locking mechanism with a deft twist and a sharp _click_.

Bucky fought to keep his expression steady as all the systems checked in. It was, in a way, _exactly_ like pins and needles, and at the same time, exactly _nothing_ like them.

And then it was over, and he was moving his arm, almost as smooth and natural as the flesh hand. “There we go--” he looked up, and Tony was still so c _lose_.

“I hope you don’t mind my saying, that is one _sexy_ piece of hardware,” Tony said. “And the guy it’s attached to is even sexier.” His lips quirked in a little smile, and then he leaned in and brushed his lips across Bucky’s, quick and light. “Merry Christmas.” His breath smelled like peppermint.

Bucky did not chase after the kiss, much as he wanted to. Morning breath was months, if not _years_ into a relationship, not for someone he’d only kissed for the first time a few hours ago. “Merry Christmas,” he said. He paused a moment, trying to stop thinking about Tony and beds and his current state of undress long enough to get on with Christmas morning. “This is not, I might add, what I had in mind, havin’ you in my bedroom.”

Tony chuckled. “No, I wouldn’t think so. We can try it again, later. See if we manage to come up with something a little more our speed. But in the meantime, I should go make sure they don’t attempt to get glasses down from the top shelf while standing on the counter, or something. As a totally random and nonspecific example of what they may or may not have gotten up to in my apartment.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Bucky said. He tried to remember if he had any clean pants or not; yesterdays were decidedly too covered with flour and butter and wiped bits of cookie dough and frosting to even consider. He stood up, letting the blankets fall back on the bed, just in time to watch Tony having not closed the door all the way.

Bucky gave him an exasperated eye roll. “Shoo--”

“You wanted me to see that,” Tony accused, laughing, but he closed the door the rest of the way, and then Bucky could hear him calling cheerfully to the kids.

[ ](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B8kfZbdEvY5WdHJJRmlETUJmaVZWUFV4aTVnRDZfVGtidzJr)

***

Bucky’s kitchen was laid out differently from Tony’s, but there were, after all, only so many places that plates and cups could be hiding. Eventually he found what looked like everyday dishes that wouldn’t be impossible to replace if an overeager/oversugared child accidentally dropped one. He directed the kids as they set Bucky’s table -- Bucky obviously didn’t host many dinner parties; it was going to be a bit of a squeeze with just the four of them -- and tried to keep an eye on the wreath cake, staying warm in the oven.

He tried not to think too much about the quick flash of skin he’d seen when Bucky had stood up, but he wasn’t nearly as successful at that as at the other things he was doing. God, Bucky looked _delectable_ ; Tony wanted to get his mouth everywhere on the man.

He shook it off, at least for a moment. “Peter, go see if Mr. Bucky has milk or orange juice.”

There was, in fact, milk, but nothing remotely resembling juice. But the milk didn’t smell like it had gone over and there was enough for both kids to have a glass with some left over, so that was good.

Bucky finally came in, wearing comfortable-looking lounge pants and a loose-fitting tee, hair pulled back into a sloppy half-bun. He was rumpled, homey… domestic. “I smell cake,” he declared. “Did you eat it all already?” He popped a pod into the coffee maker, and then pulled out one of those divided boxes that held pills, dumping a small handful into his hand before pouring himself a glass of water and shotgunning the pills, like a kid with a Pez dispenser.

“No, but only because the kids have more manners than me,” Tony said. He took it from the oven and set it on top of the burners. “This is your recipe; we’re waiting for you to do the honors.”

“Okay,” Bucky said, “but first, we must all gather ‘round. My brother in law got me a selfie stick, and i think he’d like to see my first usage of it for breakfast. So, here we go…” He did, in fact, have a selfie stick, and he positioned it over them, to frame the Christmas cake. “Everyone say Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas!”

Morgan was practically squirming in her seat. “Can we eat now?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, and he cut up slices of the wreath, each one adorned with a cherry, and it smelled of cinnamon and butter and oozed sugary goodness from the middle as he cut it. Peter couldn’t resist, and ran a finger through the leaking puddle, licking it off noisily.

Tony spotted it, but decided to let it slide. “This is fabulous,” he told Bucky. “I would eat this every day, except by the end of a year I’d be too fat to walk.”

“Ma will be delighted to hear it,” Bucky said. “She has seven children, and only two of us actually bake. She taught the recipe to _Steve_ because Sharon refuses to put her fingers in the dough.”

Tony snorted. “I’m not much of a baker, I admit, but I’m certainly not afraid of getting my hands dirty.”

“Good to know,” Bucky said, and he sucked a bit of icing off his thumb. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Now that was just straight-up taunting. Tony narrowed his eyes at Bucky a little, though the effect was probably spoiled by the smirk he couldn’t entirely suppress. “Okay, kids,” he announced, “whoever can clean up their plates the fastest gets the first present!”

Over the whoop and rush to be first to the kitchen with their empty plates, Tony muttered, “You are a _menace_.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky said, giving Tony an arch look. “You’re the one who invaded _my_ bedroom. I’m merely retaliating. Seems fair to me.”

Tony huffed and _almost_ swayed in to claim a kiss, but then the kids were there, jumping up and down and pulling at Tony’s arm. “Come on, c’mon, it’s time for _presents!_ ” Tony grinned. “Ready to come up with us?” he asked Bucky.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “We ain’t goin’ far enough to need shoes, an’--” He grabbed a bag from the front hall closet. “-- the dishes can wait.”

“Great!” Tony let the kids drag him out of Bucky’s apartment and up the stairs because waiting for the elevator was going to take too long.

He’d gotten things set up before they’d gone down to surprise Bucky with a wake-up call. The tree was lit and glowing softly. The pile of presents under it wasn’t enormous, but it looked nice anyway. There was a plate of cookies on the table and a tray of coffee mugs set out, waiting for coffee (or, in the kids’ case, hot chocolate). Tony picked up the mugs and took them into the kitchen, throwing a pod into his coffee maker. “Okay, who won the race?”

“Me!”

“No, me!”

“Let us know when you make up your mind,” Tony said, as the children kept arguing.

“Coffee,” Bucky said, picking up the cup and taking a long sip. “You’re provisionally forgiven for scaring me this morning.”

“Good to know,” Tony said. “I honestly don’t even know how it happened. They were talking about going to get you, and Peter said your door was probably locked, and I made a comment under my breath about the average quality of locks, and suddenly...”

“I get the feeling that you’re pretty good with that set of reasonings; ‘I honestly don’t even know how it happened.’ I see this series of events happening rather frequently. Lab explosions, accidental melting of the floor, kitchen fires… stop me if I’m wrong here.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tony said loftily, though it was a pretty accurate assessment. Lots of things happened around Tony, and he wasn’t always entirely sure how they’d come about. “I haven’t melted a floor since I was about fourteen, though. Give me _some_ credit.”

“You just have that mad scientist look about you,” Bucky remarked.

Morgan appeared in the kitchen before Tony could respond. “Have you two settled the question yet?”

“We decided that Peter won the race. If he can open a present?” She had apparently come to the conclusion that if they kept arguing, they weren’t going to get to open _any_ presents. 

“Yes, all right,” Tony said. He made his way back out into the living room and settled on the couch. “Peter first, then. You can hand out presents while Peter’s opening his, Morgs.”

Peter scrambled for the pile of presents, looking through them for the ones with his name on it, and then selected the largest one of the lot. “This one--”

Tony tried to remember what was in that box, but couldn’t. “Okay. Don’t drop it.”

Morgan practically crawled under the tree and began sorting the presents into two piles; one for her, and one for Peter. While Peter was exclaiming over the wonders of a kitchen science kit, she brought a small, slightly lumpy package to Bucky. “This has your name,” she told him.

“Oh, does it?” Bucky wondered, taking the package and attempting to shake it, which was unsuccessful. “Is it a gold brick?”

She looked dubious. “It’s kinda squishy,” she pointed out. Then, apparently realizing that Peter’s present had not only been unwrapped but opened and spread over half the coffee table already, she beelined back to her pile to pick out a thing to open first.

“It’s not much,” Tony apologized.

“As I wasn’t expecting anything, we’ve already exceeded my expectations,” Bucky said. “Very small gold brick? With lots of wrapping around it?”

“Yes, that’s definitely what it is,” Tony said, laughing. “Go ahead.”

Bucky picked at the tape, very slowly unwrapping the gift, until he had a few pairs of very ugly socks in his lap. “Really?” He was grinning. “Wow. Purple plaid. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before.”

Tony laughed. “You did say you wanted ridiculous socks.”

“I _love_ them,” Bucky declared. “Next time I have to work late, I’ll feel much better about it because I am wearing truly hideous socks.”

Morgan managed to liberate a tiny robot toy kit. “It’s a bot-topus,” she yelped. “That’s awesome!”

Tony grinned. He might be a Christmas curmudgeon, but he’d seen that kit _months_ ago and hadn’t been able to resist. “No taking over the world with it,” he cautioned.

“No promises!”

“I, for one,” Bucky said, “am overjoyed to welcome our octopus overlords. Which reminds me, your soon-to-be-highness, I have something for you.” And Bucky removed three wrapped presents from his bag. “For you, and for Peter, and for Mr. Tony.”

Tony took his, feeling slightly nonplussed. “Thank you. I didn’t-- Thanks.” He shot Bucky a smile and then carefully opened the package.

The tee shirt was a simple design; a rack of test tubes across the front, and instead of chemicals, were filled with distillations of various Muppets, including Animal, the Swedish Chef, and Beaker.

“Mad scientist,” Bucky said, as if he was punctuating a sentence.

Tony laughed aloud, utterly delighted. It wasn’t a suck-up kind of gift. Or a dutiful one. Or the kind of gift you gave when you were trying to prove that you were generous or smart or... It was just a ridiculous t-shirt. Something funny, something that had made Bucky think, _I think Tony would like that_.

“It’s perfect,” Tony said. He stripped off the band tee he’d been wearing and pulled it on. “Thank you.”

Bucky’s mouth was a little bit open, his eyes a little bit glazed, then he shook his head. “You’re welcome.”

Morgan was crowing over her present, a plastic tiara and fairy godmother wand, done in glittery blue with big, fake gemstones all over it. 

“Seems fitting now. Goes with your robot,” Bucky said, admiring her as she turned around in a clumsy circle to display it.

“Yep, all ready to rule the world, that’s my Morgana,” Tony said, smiling. “What about you, Peter? Good haul?”

Peter agreed, then peered out the window. “Is it too cold to go out for a test ride?”

“It’s too cold for me, at least,” Bucky said. “I am not dressed for outside.” 

“Yeah, you don’t even have shoes on. Tell you what; if you sit with Morgan, I’ll take Peter down for fifteen minutes or so. We’ll see if he can find his balance.” Tony looked around for his coat. “Keep an ear out for the phone; Pep and May will probably call at some point.”

“Sure will,” Bucky said. “Come on, Queen Morgan Le Fey, let’s eat some of the cookies while they’re outside?”

Morgan appeared to consider that for all of three seconds before declaring that Bucky was going to be the Queen’s hero and official cookie-tester.

Peter scowled when Tony made him put on a coat, hat, and gloves -- “How am I supposed to ride with gloves on?” -- and at his sister trying to see if she could cram four cookies into her mouth at the same time, but then was reminded that going for a ride was his idea, and got back with the program.

It was, in fact, rather cold outside. Not quite breath freezing in your lungs, freezing, but bad enough.

On the other hand, the sidewalks and pathways were remarkably clear of both pedestrians and snow.

Tony managed to get Peter onto the bike and showed him how to practice balancing. “I know it sounds weird, but it will actually be easier to stay up when you’re moving.”

Peter wobbled again to the other side. “It can’t be any harder,” he pointed out. “Go on, give me a push.”

“Okay, but you have to pedal, too, give that a try.” Tony took hold of the seat and pushed Peter into motion, holding onto the seat for a few seconds while he built up some momentum. “Keep pedaling!”

Peter managed to get maybe twenty feet or so, giggling crazily, before he suddenly realized that Tony wasn’t next to him anymore, wobbled crazily as he turned to look, and promptly crashed into a snowdrift. “I did it,” Peter said, spitting snow and wiping his face off. “Didn’t I, didn’t I, Mr. Tony?”

“You did, kiddo, your moms are going to be so proud!” Tony helped Peter up out of the snow and brushed him down. “I think that’s probably enough for now, huh? Let’s go on back up and see if there’s leftover cake for lunch.”

“I can ride back, least,” Peter said, getting the bike back upright. “Lemme see if I can do it myself.”

He wobbled several times, had to put his feet down. It was a titan sized task, getting the bike into motion, but Peter was determined, and then, he seemed to grasp the idea, standing up on the pedal and pushing down, getting the back tire spinning-- 

And crashed off the other side, into a decorative shrubbery. 

“Okay, maybe that’s enough for today,” Peter acquiesced. “Least ‘til it’s spring and we can go out to th’ park. There’s too much stuff in the way, here.” He looked up at Tony like he expected Tony to suddenly pull more Manhattan real estate out of thin air and widen the sidewalk or something.

“Tell you what,” Tony said, “after Pepper and May get back and you’re home again with all your loot, I’ll come over and take you to that little park that’s down by them. That’s got some nice paths.”

“Okay,” Peter agreed. “I like it when you come over Mr. Tony. Maybe, maybe Mr. Bucky could come with you?”

“Uh, we’ll see,” Tony hedged. He had no idea what he and Bucky were headed toward, whether it was even remotely the kind of thing that included family visits. “I’ll ask him.”

It seemed to take a lot longer to get the bike back up the building steps and into the elevator than it had to get it out. Of course, Peter had stopped helping quite a while ago, and was now jabbering on about his new chemistry set and the fact that he wanted to be a scientist when he grew up, because scientists did all the important work in the world, and Peter wanted to be important and do important stuff.

“So my mom, my real mom, you know,” Peter said, pointing upward as if his mom was the Ceiling Cat or something. “So, she’ll know who I am. Because Aunt May says I was the most important thing in my mom’s life.”

“You absolutely were,” Tony agreed. “And she’ll know who you are no matter what, whether you’re a brilliant scientist or an artist or a chef or a programmer or a construction worker. No matter what, your mom is going to be proud of you.”

“Yeah, I hope so,” Peter said. “It was pretty cool, riding a bike. Do you ride bikes, Mr. Tony? I don’t see many adults riding bikes, unless they’re in a _real hurry_. Messengers and stuff. Do adults just… go for a ride, sometimes, because they want to?”

Peter continued to point out that adults were weird, and probably not always having their priorities straight, all the way back up to the penthouse.

Tony just nodded along, because truth told, he kind of agreed with the kid on a few points. He made Peter push the bike while he got the door open, pushed it wide to let Peter through in front of him, and all but stopped dead in the doorway, staring.

Bucky was sitting crosslegged on the floor, Morgan leaning against his knees, as the two of them read carefully through the robotics instructions. Bucky’d managed to find a screwdriver somewhere (really, it was Tony’s penthouse, there were probably at least three in the silverware drawer) and he was guiding tiny hands through the process of putting a screw in place and screwing it into place.

_This is what it feels like_ , Tony thought with shocking clarity, _to come home._ To find people that you cared for, who cared for each other.

The lights of the Christmas tree twinkled smugly in the background, turning the scene into something right out of a sappy commercial. Bucky, barefoot and patient; Morgan with the plastic tiara still perched on her head. Peter skipping ahead to crow excitedly about how he’d actually ridden his bike. “So fast, Mr. Bucky, like _zoom!_ ”

“Yeah?” Bucky asked. “After all that effort, maybe you should have a cookie. I managed to save a few for you and for Tony.”

He glanced up, looking through long eyelashes to give Tony a warm smile. “Good Christmas?”

“I... Yeah, actually.” Tony shucked his coat and went to join them, folding down onto the floor, close enough to feel the heat of Bucky’s body radiating next to his wind-chilled skin. “The best Christmas ever, really.” He leaned into Bucky’s side briefly. “Thanks for helping us out.”

“Happy to help,” Bucky said, huffing a breath into Tony’s hair. “With just about anything.”

“I’ll take you up on that,” Tony murmured, feeling warm all over despite still being chilled from outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Morgan's robot](https://www.amazon.com/Hi-Tech-Mechanical-Building-Children-Gesture/dp/B07HFZ6SJ1/)
> 
> [Tony's t-shirt](https://www.teepublic.com/t-shirt/494294-muppet-science)
> 
> [Bucky's socks](https://www.boldsocks.com/product/purple-grey-plaid-mens-dress-socks-statement-sockwear)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut-averse readers, you'll want to stop at the break. :)

The turkey had come out well; stuffing, potatoes and various vegetables (and the inevitable tin of cranberry jelly) were all offered, sampled, and found delicious. The gravy had little white pills of flour clumped in it, but aside from looking a little odd, it tasted fine. (Becca had laughed at him when he frantically texted her to ask how to fix it, and told him to strain it through cheesecloth. Like he had any cheesecloth. What even the fuck was cheesecloth?) The kids devoured all the yeast rolls without the slightest bit of shame, and Bucky was just cutting a sliver of pie for everyone when someone knocked on the door.

Tony blinked in surprise, but tossed his napkin on the table and went to the door. He peered through the peephole and let out a startled, “Oh!” and unlocked the door, opening it to a tall, statuesque woman sporting a somewhat apologetic smile. “Pepper?”

“Hi,” she said.

“Mommy!” Morgan shrieked, and practically flung herself out of her chair. Peter wasn’t far behind.

“Hey babies,” Pepper said, twisting herself into a squat to hug her children. “May’s not far behind me, she couldn’t wait for the elevator before going to freshen up. But she should be on the next one up. We didn’t want to be away from you on Christmas.”

Both kids flung themselves at her, talking simultaneously over themselves about their Christmas presents and the shopping and the movies and Mr. Tony and Mr. Bucky and and and... Far from being overwhelmed by the cacophony, Pepper’s eyes shimmered with happy tears as she pulled the kids close and responded to them in soft murmurs. “Oh, really? That must have been very exciting! I can’t wait to see it. You _did?_ I’m so impressed.”

Tony managed to nudge the mass of them farther into the apartment so he could close the door. “Okay, gang, go pack up your stuff!” He waited until Morgan and Peter had left the room before cocking his head at Pepper. “What happened?”

Bucky cut an extra few slices of pie. “We just finished up dinner, but we’re ready for dessert, if you’d like to join us? I’m sorry, I don’t know what your surname is, and Mrs. Peter’s Mom probably is rude once I got out of middle school.”

“Ms. Potts-Parker,” she said, then turned to Tony, fuming. “Oh, it was horrible, that horrible, horrible woman. I can’t believe what she said to May.” She bounced onto her toes to look over Tony’s shoulder to make sure the children didn’t hear her. “May put a lot of effort into looking ‘respectable’ for our trip into the hospital, no jeans and tees, you know.” Pepper was shaking with fury. “And she said, ‘Well, look at you, May, when you get a nice dress, and put on some makeup and actually take time to fix that bird’s nest you call hair, you look _almost pretty_.’”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Tony breathed. “Her _own daughter?_ Pep, what even the fu--” He broke off and looked around to make sure there were no little pitchers nearby. “Who would _say_ something like that?”

“I don’t know, but--” Pepper made a strangled noise. “That wasn’t even the worst thing she said while we were there, but-- I could not stand it, to let May be abused like that. It’s as much _closure_ as that harridan needs.” She took a deep breath, and then said, “Pie would be lovely, thank you. Based on the rather hurried stories I got, you must be… Mr. Bucky?”

“Oh, right,” Tony said quickly. “Pepper, Bucky Barnes, my downstairs neighbor. He saved Christmas for us. Bucky, this is Pepper, who rules my life with an iron fist.”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that you’ve _decorated_ ,” Pepper told Tony. “There must be a little spark of Christmas somewhere in that Grinch heart of yours, after all.”

Tony pretended to look annoyed, but Bucky could see right through it, and he was pretty sure Pepper could, too.

“It’s been a delight, really,” Bucky said, “after we convinced everyone that we could, in fact, have Christmas without listening to _Jingle Bell Rock_ on endless repeat.”

Pepper made a scoffing sound. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those heathens who thinks _Die Hard_ is a _Christmas_ movie.” But she was grinning and looking back and forth between Tony and Bucky with the same sort of _tell me everything_ expression Bucky’d seen on his sister’s face most recently.

“It is possible,” Tony said with the greatest reluctance, “that there are _some_ things about Christmas that are nice.”

“Christmas is fine,” Bucky said, “s’long as you do it right. Tony just had a lot of bad examples. Sit down, have a piece of pie, how do you--”

There was another knock at the door, and Tony let in May, who looked like she’d gone to the ladies’ room to wash her face after an extended cry. The children _probably_ wouldn’t notice.

Peter was back out in a flash, suitcase in one hand and one of his toys in the other. “Aunt May!” 

“Hey, kiddo,” May said, pulling Peter into an engulfing hug. Over his head, she went wide-eyed at the decorated room and mouthed a silent _WOW_ at Tony.

Tony stuck his tongue out at her. “We were just going to have some pie and coffee,” he said aloud. “Come and have a piece before you try to pile all their stuff into the car.”

“Thank you,” May said, “I’d be delighted. Did you make it?”

Bucky laughed. “He helped. Helped himself to pie filling, that is.”

“Quality testing is very important!” Tony squawked indignantly.

Morgan came out, dragging her little suitcase behind her. It appeared to be stuffed perhaps just slightly beyond capacity. She was wearing her princess tiara and carrying the wand and the octo-robot both under one arm. “Do we _hafta_ go home now? Mr. Tony was gonna let us stay up _late_!”

“Oh he was, was he?” May queried. “Maybe it’s best we came home early. Wouldn’t want you to fall asleep in your breakfast cereal tomorrow.”

“I remember what it was like to not want to take a nap,” Bucky said. “Dear Sleep, please forgive me, you’re the one that got away…”

Tony laughed. “Given how early they were up this morning, I wasn’t expecting them to actually be able to make it more than half an hour past bedtime anyway.”

Morgan gave him a betrayed look, and set her chin at him stubbornly.

“Oh, now you’ve done it,” Pepper said. “Honey, save it for the next sleepover. We’ll go to bed at home tonight, just like always.”

“I have to admit, I wouldn’t normally think to catch a flight home on Christmas, I would have thought it would be busy, and expensive,” May said, “but it turned out to be very inexpensive, even after paying the cancellation fee on our other tickets.” She yawned. “Still tiring though. There’s something about sitting in tiny, uncomfortable plane seats that makes me want to nap for eighteen hours straight.”

“You should take the corporate jet next time,” Tony suggested. “We’ll make up a business reason for Pepper to need to be wherever you’re going.”

“I haven’t been on an airplane in forever,” Bucky said. “They always want to take my arm off and inspect it for possible, I don’t know, nuclear devices or something.”

Pepper glanced at the hand he’d held up by way of demonstration and startled a little, apparently having not noticed the prosthetic before, but she recovered quickly. “Yes, because obviously you’d want to carry dangerous devices inside your limbs.”

“For most people, flying costs an arm and a leg, but for me-- just the arm,” Bucky said, and snickered. TSA agents did not appreciate his sense of humor, either, which had made things… uncomfortable the last time he’d flown anywhere. “The kids are glad you’re back, but I gotta admit, I’m kinda sorry to see them go.”

“Really?” Pepper looked amused. “You must be a very patient saint, then.”

“Mr. Tony’s gonna take me to the park to practice on my bike,” Peter chimed in, through a half-chewed mouthful of pie. “You can come too, Mr. Bucky.”

“Mouth closed while you chew, Mr. Parker,” May said, her mom voice in full force. “Quite good, though.” She took another sliver of pie. “Mom had lime jello for her dessert today.” There was something just a little fierce and sad in her tone.

“You know if you need to go back, after the holidays,” Tony said gently, “I’ll be happy to take them again. Just say the word.”

“I don’t think we will,” May said. “She said everything she needed to say.”

“Quite a bit more than enough,” Pepper added. 

“Grandmama talks a lot,” Peter guessed, after carefully chewing his latest bite.

“You could say that,” Pepper said, and she gave a crow of laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Tony wondered, leaning back in his seat to take a sip of coffee.

“Not a thing,” Pepper said. “I was just thinking how much Grandmama wanted Peter to have a _man’s influence_ in his life. I wonder what she’d say now.” Her eyes flicked from Tony to Bucky and back again. 

May snorted. “Let’s not go over that again,” she said. “Peter and Morgan have all the parenting and love that they need.”

“Of course they do,” Tony said. “Your kids are the best kids, I’ve always said.”

Pepper finished her pie, and pushed the plate aside. “They are, I agree. And Santa must, too, because there’s quite a haul here. I don’t know how we’re going to get it all home.”

“I am not leaving my robot-octopus _here_ ,” Morgan declared.

“I’m pretty sure it won’t take over the world without you,” Bucky said. He wasn’t entirely sure that Tony wouldn’t take it apart and rebuild it, however. He didn’t say so, though. 

“We’ll see what we can fit, and we’ll make arrangements for the rest of it,” Pepper said. “ _Fairly_.” 

“We’ll hire a delivery van tomorrow,” Tony promised. “Each of you pick one thing that absolutely _has_ to go home with you tonight -- I think the bike is going to have to wait for the van, Petey, sorry -- and we’ll sort out the rest in the morning.”

Morgan tried to hide her magic wand behind her back. “I’m takin’ my octopus. Jus’ that.”

May looked amused. “I think we can fit the octopus and the wand,” she allowed. “Pete?”

“Uh, my new chemistry kit?” Peter asked, like he wasn’t sure. “Yeah, that’s… that’s _fragile_. I wouldn’ want some moving guys to break it.”

“Okay,” said Pepper. “Pack it up, and let’s get going. Say thank you to Mr. Tony for letting you stay--”

“Thank you!” Tiny arms flung themselves around Tony’s neck, and he looked a little misty as he hugged them back.

“Best Christmas ever, you guys,” he murmured. “Be good, and I’ll see you soon, okay?”

There was a round of goodbyes and hugs, and Bucky found himself an unexpected recipient of both. And then they were gone and the penthouse seemed somehow larger and emptier after their absence.

And then he looked at Tony, and Tony was looking back at him. “Huh. Alone at last.”

Tony blinked, and then smiled slowly. “Have you been waiting to get me alone?” he teased. “Planning to work your dastardly wiles on me?”

“I don’t know that dastardly is what I had in mind, but yeah,” Bucky said. “A little bit of quality privacy wouldn’t go amiss. Fate gave us a Christmas present, maybe. Oof, that was cheesy. Sounded better in my head.”

“Oh, I think it sounded just fine,” Tony said. He set his coffee mug on the table, then came closer to Bucky, crowding into Bucky’s space, his hands curling in Bucky’s shirt. “Quality privacy sounds like just the thing to round out the holiday.”

***

Tony found himself pulled into Bucky’s lap, straddling those thighs. “Shouldn’t feel like I been waitin’ forever,” he said, like an admission, “but it does.”

Tony’s skin had been prickling with a need to touch Bucky since the previous night, so he wasn’t about to chide Bucky for impatience. He threaded his fingers into Bucky’s hair and closed the distance between them until they were breathing each other’s air. “Yeah? Want to show me what it is you’ve been waiting for?”

Bucky’s lips were trembling and his breath was hot, a little moist, and smelled like coffee and pie. He gripped Tony’s hand in his, turned it over and pressed a soft kiss against his knuckles, tongue flickering out to brush the tender webbing between each, until he reached Tony’s thumb. He moved their hands together, then let his teeth scrape against the meaty part of Tony’s palm. “You have the most gorgeous hands,” he told Tony in all seriousness. “They’re nothing like what I would have thought, if you’d asked me, a few days ago.”

Tony huffed amusement. “They’re just hands,” he said. “Not even particularly well-kept.” His nails were kept trimmed right to the quick, and he still managed to get oil and grease under them, or ground into the cuticles. There were scars from a dozen or more different accidents -- slipped tools, fumbled soldering irons, bits of wire bent just the wrong way at the wrong moment. And no matter how often Pepper nagged at him to get a manicure, the skin was rough, thick and calloused.

“ _Graceful_ ,” Bucky said, turning Tony’s wrist and dropping a kiss just there, on the pulse point, his lips lingering. “Even when you’re nervous, or at a loss of what to do, your hands move with confidence. Dexterous. Like a musician. You have calluses. You work with your hands, and they haven’t yet disappointed. You’re a shaper. And you love it.” He nuzzled at Tony’s palm, the air from his lungs tickling soft and followed each by a press of his mouth.

Tony’s insides shivered at the brush of breath across his skin. “I suppose that’s true.” He turned his hand, cupping Bucky’s jaw, and tipped Bucky’s face up so Tony could kiss him, teasing and light, utterly belying the hot curl of desire in his chest. “God, you’re irresistible.” He nuzzled his way along Bucky’s jaw to nip at the soft skin just under Bucky’s ear.

Bucky made a soft noise of wanting and tipped his head to give Tony better access. “Glad to hear it,” he said. “Been having the worst time, keepin’ my hands off you. Better’n any Christmas present. Just want to unwrap you.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed roughly, tracing along the collar of Bucky’s shirt, teasing them both. “I can’t wait to see you. Touch and taste, too.” He wriggled a little, scooting back enough to follow the line of Bucky’s throat with his lips, to lick into the hollow of Bucky’s collarbone. “I hope your phone’s on silent this time.”

“Please silence your cell phones before this evening’s entertainment,” Bucky said in an eerily accurate movie narrator voice. He squirmed a little, Tony swaying in his lap, rubbing against those powerful thighs, and then Bucky had his phone out, flicked it to Shutdown and tossed it on the table.

Tony followed suit and then pushed closer, until their bodies were pressed together from shoulder to hip. “There we are. No interruptions. Just you and me and the lights.” The Christmas lights made Bucky seem to glow, made Tony that much more in awe of Bucky’s beauty. He wormed his hands under the hem of Bucky’s shirt, splaying his fingers out over Bucky’s ribs and stomach.

Arching into Tony’s touch, Bucky was practically quivering under Tony’s hand. He tugged at the back collar of his shirt until he pulled it off over his head, making his hair a fluffy mess. Tony had gotten a glimpse of him, but now, now he had the opportunity to _look_. Bucky was lean-waisted and broad shouldered, his skin naturally tan. There were pale silver scars around his prosthetic. The air in Tony’s penthouse was just a little chilly, perking up those dark brown nipples, and when Tony’s fingers slid over them, Bucky moaned, wantonly.

“Sensitive?” Tony flicked his fingers back over them, more deliberately, just to watch Bucky shudder and arch into it. “I like that. You’re so gorgeous...” He trailed his hands down, lightly covering every inch of that delectable skin, feeling the silky softness of Bucky’s chest hair. Then he reached up and pulled off his own tee, smirking at the picture on it briefly before letting it fall to the floor.

“Look at you,” Bucky breathed. He put his hands on Tony’s hips, fingers gripping the belt loops of his pants, and he rutted up, grinding them together. Tony could feel the length of Bucky through his jeans, hard and heated, against his thigh. “I want you…”

“Trust me, that is very much mutual.” Tony curled his spine, rocking his own cock against Bucky’s groin, unable to suppress a soft moan at the friction and heat. He tipped his head, inviting Bucky’s mouth to his throat. “...Bedroom?”

Bucky looked up at him through eyes that were glazed with wanting. "Huh? Oh. Yeah, I guess the chair ain't really gonna do it. You first. Like to watch you walk."

It wasn’t as if Tony didn’t already know his ass was one of his better features, but hearing the rough purr of Bucky’s voice with the insinuation made Tony feel hot all over in the best sort of way. He slid carefully off Bucky’s lap, bent to capture a somewhat lingering kiss, then turned and walked toward the bedroom, letting his hips sway a little more than strictly necessary, tucking his thumbs in the back of his jeans as if he were going to shove them off the instant he walked through the bedroom door.

"Jesus," Bucky breathed, just sitting there for a moment like he was too stunned to do anything else, and then before Tony got to the door, practically chased him down. His hands went around Tony's waist, pulling him back just enough to press against him before letting him go. "Ain't you a temptation?"

“I certainly hope so,” Tony said, glancing back at Bucky over his shoulder teasingly. He pushed open the bedroom door and walked in, his hands already tugging at his belt. “Come over here and be tempted.”

Bucky put his hands over Tony's, one finger dipping inside the waistband. "Let me help you," he said, and then sunk down on his knees, as if he needed to see what he was doing. Bucky glanced up from that angle and wet his lips. His hands weren't quite as graceful as maybe he'd described Tony's, but he knew what he was doing, opening Tony's belt and fly with ease. 

He leaned in and licked the skin just under Tony's navel. "Yeah?"

Tony’s breath shuddered out of him and he threaded his fingers into Bucky’s hair and nodded. “Yeah, god, please...”

Bucky tugged Tony's pants down until they were around his thighs. His hands went up, cupping Tony's ass and then mouthing at him through the thin fabric of his shorts, a wicked tease.

Tony swayed into the touch, a needy sound falling from his throat. “Bucky...” He petted Bucky’s hair restlessly. He didn’t try to push or direct; it felt so _good_ , so sweet, Tony was more than happy to linger in the sensation as long as Bucky wanted to.

Tiny tugs on his shorts, revealing an inch of skin at a time, followed by that heated mouth until Tony was standing, his pants awkward around his ankles, and Bucky's hand on his thigh. He traced a slow line up Tony's cock, balls to head, with that metal finger, the end tipped with a softer plastic, probably for grip. "You don't mind?"

“ _Mind?_ ” Tony laughed shakily. “It’s the sexiest thing that’s happened to me this year. This _decade_. Please, touch me all you want with it. Or any other part of your body, really, just... touch me.”

Bucky laughed, honestly delighted, and his lips were still vibrating with it when he opened his mouth and took Tony in, tongue flicking over the head.

“Oh... Oh, yeah,” Tony breathed. He brushed his hands down Bucky’s hair, tracing the curve of Bucky’s ears, the slope of Bucky’s neck. “Yeah, honey, just like that...” Bucky’s mouth was warm and wet and plush and perfect, and Tony had to remind himself not to thrust forward, not to just _take_ the way his body was trying to demand. 

Bucky’s hands on his thighs were eager, gripping one moment, caressing the next. He moaned in his throat, and Tony could feel those vibrations all the way up to his scalp. With a low, almost possessive growl, Bucky curled his hands around Tony’s thighs, pulled him in, took him all the way to the root. He made a soft, almost choked noise, swallowed, and then was deep throating him, fingers applying pressure, encouraging Tony’s rebellious, heated body to thrust, to give in to those demands. 

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Tony gasped, letting himself give in, to slide deep into that welcoming warmth, that delicious pressure and that wicked, agile tongue. “Bucky, oh my god, that’s _amazing_.”

Bucky drove him, almost ruthlessly toward completion, and then slowed down, until he pulled off with an obscene slurp. He looked up at Tony with lust-dark eyes, mouth brilliant red and lips swollen, wet and used. There was a shiny trail of saliva down his chin and against his throat and he wiped his mouth self-consciously.

“Just when I thought you couldn’t get any sexier,” Tony panted. He kicked the rest of the way out of his clothes and leaned down to capture Bucky’s mouth with his own, licking into it to catch the faint traces of his own taste on Bucky’s tongue. “Come on, _bed_.” He grabbed Bucky’s hand and pulled until Bucky followed, backing his way toward the bed until his knees collided with the edge of the mattress and he tumbled back onto it.

Bucky unzipped and then sighed with relief as he pushed his own pants out of the way, stepping out of them and then following Tony onto the bed, skin against skin, catching his mouth and nearly devouring him. They were raw, urgent, heated kisses, desperate and full of need, sloppy and perfect.

Tony lost himself in them, in the feel of skin against his own, the smooth slide of Bucky’s hands on him, the one yielding flesh and the other hard metal and both of them steadily ramping up Tony’s desire until he could barely breathe in the brief seconds they parted. He explored what he could reach of Bucky’s body as well, firm muscle under smooth skin, coarse body hair tickling under Tony’s palms.

They rolled over once, twice, until they were in the center of the bed, messing the comforter up as they went until Bucky was nestled between Tony’s thighs like he was made to be there, staring down at him. “Want this t’ be so perfect,” Bucky sighed, then nuzzled at Tony’s ear. “How do you like it?”

“Deep and slow, and then hard and fast.” Tony brushed Bucky’s hair back from his face and leaned up for a kiss. “It’s going to be perfect.” He nodded at the bedside table. “Stuff in there, if you can reach.”

Bucky couldn’t, but he was still mostly laying across Tony as he rummaged around inside Tony’s table. His eyebrows went up, and then up again. “Nice toy collection,” he murmured. “Where’s th’ damn -- ah, here we go. Glow in the dark? No. Ah! Condom. Thank you.”

Tony chuckled. “Maybe we can play with the toys sometime,” he said. “A guy’s got to have some variety once in a while.”

Bucky stopped messing in the drawer, came back with a couple of condom packets and Tony’s favorite lube, and kissed Tony very thoroughly. “Huh, yeah, okay.”

Nice. Guys who were squeamish about toys, in Tony’s experience, were usually not that great _without_ them, either.

“Right now, don’t reckon I’ll last long if we spice it up even more,” Bucky said, almost like he was apologizing. “Go on, lay back, I’ll take care of you.” He dripped lube into his right hand, closed his fingers a little and blew on it to warm it up.

Tony was reluctant to take his hands off Bucky, but that would just make things awkward, at least until they knew each other’s movements a little better, so he rearranged the pillows and laid back, striking a slightly ridiculous pose just to make Bucky smile and laugh a little before spreading his legs wider and giving himself up to Bucky’s touch.

Bucky slicked him up, running his slippery fingers everywhere-- across his hole, over his cock, and then circled ‘round the entrance to Tony’s body, watching intently to gauge Tony’s reactions, to see when he gasped or moaned, to judge the expressions on his face.

Tony let himself get lost in it, the slide of Bucky’s hands and fingers, the sweet ache of his body adjusting to Bucky’s intrusion, the almost reverent encouragement Bucky murmured as they moved together, sweet praise and fervent cursing mixed together. Tony didn’t try to suppress any reactions; he wanted Bucky to know what he liked, what felt good. He wanted to know what _Bucky_ liked, too, and tried to watch, to see what made Bucky’s eyes light up or a flush of sudden heat climb Bucky’s neck. “Enough,” he said after a bit, “I’m good, I’m ready, please--”

“Yeah? You’re magnificent,” Bucky said, “could watch you move like this for _hours_.” He flicked the condom packet at Tony. “Open this up for me?” He fished around in Tony’s drawer again and found a packet of wet wipes, clearing lube off his fingers. 

Tony could do even better than that; he ripped the packet open and then sat up to smooth it on Bucky’s cock. He indulged in some exploration while he was there, enjoying the feel of it in his hand, the ridges on the underside, the tip, slippery with pre-come. “This is gorgeous,” he said, giving Bucky a smug smirk. “Just like the rest of you.” He rolled the condom on and gave Bucky a light squeeze. “Can’t wait to have it in me.”

“God--” Bucky clenched his jaw, pushing against Tony’s touch. “Go on, keep talkin’ dirty.” He spread Tony’s thighs wide, got them lined up. Very slowly, Bucky rubbed against the pliant opening to Tony’s body, then pushed, breaching him. Tony was stretched, accommodating him, a slight burn, giving way to heat and need.

“You like that?” Tony asked, panting through the stretch, hands clenching at Bucky’s shoulders and back. He hooked one leg up over Bucky’s hip and groaned at the way it shifted them together. “You want me to talk about how pretty your dick is? How good it feels, filling me up, making me feel full of you, like you’re inhabiting every inch of my body. I want to feel it, when you move, I want to feel you filling me up, coming in me...”

Bucky uttered a strangled groan, tucked his face against Tony’s throat, and pushed all the way home. “Yeah, I like that,” he said, panting for breath as they waited, joined together, for Tony to adjust. “Oh, god, you’re tight--”

“Been a while,” Tony admitted. “Don’t stop, fuck, you feel so _good_. I’m going to feel you for _days_. You going to like that, too? When you see me tomorrow and I’ve got that little hitch in my step, knowing you did it?” He rocked his hips up, trying to somehow pull Bucky even farther in.

“You are so _bad_ ,” Bucky told him. “I ain’t gonna be able to think of nothin’ else, now.” He pushed Tony’s thigh back, changing the angle as they moved together, pulling back and sliding in, moving deep, slow, rocking them together. “Gonna watch every move you make, wonderin’ if you’re thinkin’ back to this.” His accent, faint most of the time, got thicker as he talked, as they worked together toward a common goal, like he’d forgotten he was supposed to repress it.

Tony laughed, breathless. “You don’t have to wonder, honey. I’m not going to think of anything _but_ this until at least New Year’s.” He clutched at Bucky’s shoulder a little tighter, giving himself leverage, and thrust upward, shifting the angle until Bucky’s cock was sliding perfectly right along his prostate. “Oh, _yeah_ , just like that...”

Bucky’s hands were under Tony’s ass, bringing him up to meet Bucky’s strokes, pulling them closer. “So good, doll,” Bucky said, “you’re so hot, oh, _Christ_. Tony, oh, god. _Tony.”_ He whispered Tony’s name like a prayer, chanted it like an offering, practically screamed it like a battle cry. 

Tony’s own pleasure zinged through his nerves like electricity, almost unbearable and perfect. He worked a hand between them and curled it around his cock for that last tip over the edge. It didn’t take much; a half dozen strokes in time with the rolling of Bucky’s hips and he threw his head back, crying out with the force of his orgasm.

Bucky strained, his body going stiff as Tony shuddered under him, skin slick and glowing with exertion. “Tony, baby,” he breathed, and then his hips worked a few times, rapidly, slapping them together with the force of it. He moaned, soft, and then went still, eyes rolling up, mouth open in pleasure.

Tony went limp, utterly relaxed, arms curled around Bucky, still on top of him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this boneless and peaceful.

“Oh, god,” Bucky murmured again, trying to get his arm under himself again. “Tell me I ain’t too heavy for you.”

“Nng,” Tony managed, eyes drifting shut. “Feels fine.” He turned his head a little to nuzzle at Bucky’s ear. “Feels good.”

“Okay,” Bucky said, tucking his nose into the crook of Tony’s neck. “You just live here, now.”


	9. Chapter 9

Bucky’d never been to a fancy New Year’s party. Usually he did something with his army friends, or his old high school friends, hanging out at someone’s apartment and drinking and watching the ball drop on television. Once he’d tried to go to Times Square, took one look at the crowd, turned his ass around and went right back home. There was love of his fellow humans, and then there was a seething mass of humanity, and he noped right out of that.

This was… not any of that.

This was a formal dress party -- not quite white tie, but Pepper had been matter-of-fact about him having nothing suitable in his wardrobe and arranged _something_. The something had to do with designers who wanted their suits displayed and who let people wear them who were going to have their pictures taken. A lot.

Dating Tony Stark put him firmly into that category.

He thought the suit would be uncomfortable, too tight in all the wrong places, like most suits he’d ever worn.

It wasn’t. It was comfortable and fit exactly perfectly, and hung in pristine lines, and did something to his legs that made his thighs look very impressive. 

“You look,” he had told his reflection, dazed at the transformation, “like half a million dollars, at least.”

Which still didn’t put him quite in Tony’s category. 

_He’s just Tony,_ Bucky told himself. _All he wants is someone who doesn’t care about the Stark part of things._

He checked his watch, an inheritance piece from his grandfather. Tony should be knocking soon, ready to escort him to some Manhattan club to… do whatever it was. He tried to work out the logistics of that. Would Tony go up to his penthouse, change, and come downstairs to take Bucky down to a cab, or a limo or--

Before he could work himself into a tizzy about it, the doorbell rang.

“Tony!” Like he wasn’t expecting Tony, or something. He took a step back to let Tony in, but ended up using it as an opportunity to ogle the man.

Tony wasn’t wearing white tie, either, but the suit he had on was a far cry from the baggy jeans and tees Bucky had become accustomed to seeing him in. Flashier than the daywear business suits Tony wore to the office, snug in all the right places.

Tony caught Bucky looking and grinned, spread his arms and did a brief catwalk strut down the hallway and back, letting Bucky look at him from all sides. And what those pants did for Tony’s backside -- which didn’t actually need any help in the first place... Wow. It was worth the watch.

“You also look amazing,” Tony said as he came back to Bucky’s door, leaning in to kiss Bucky’s cheek. “Are you ready to be fabulous together?”

“With you? Always,” Bucky said. “I mean, I kinda feel like Tom Hanks in Big, remember that awful powder blue tux? But I think I’ll manage.”

Tony stepped in close and smoothed Bucky’s lapels unnecessarily. “You’re _way_ hotter than Tom Hanks. You’ll be fine. I usually actually enjoy this party, if I go.”

“What do you do on years that you don’t go?” Bucky wondered. He could see Tony chilling out amongst Bucky’s friends and extended family, plastic cup of booze in one hand, while they played a few hands of something mindless and stupid, like Exploding Kittens or Cards Against Humanity and waited for the ball to drop. Maybe next year.

“Usually just stay home and tinker with the bots. It’s a good party, but if you show up stag, you end up fielding questions about it all night.” Tony made a face, then linked his arm through Bucky’s. “Ready to hit the road? I’ve got champagne chilling in the limo.”

“Time with you,” Bucky said, “s’bound to be fun.” He let Tony take him downstairs, feeling weirdly protected, like Tony had extended some sort of invisible force field around them. Tony wouldn’t let him get bored, or feel excluded, or out of place. 

Probably.

Still, it’d be weird, the first time. Dating Tony Stark. There was bound to be speculation and rumors. At least Becca already knew about it-- oh! “Hey, I know, it’s lame, but my sister’s going to want a selfie, do you think we can take one in the limo, or something? She asked me right off if we were dating, so now that the answer’s _yes_ , I probably ought to tell her.”

The whole group of them wouldn't be home for another week, so even though Bucky had time off from work, finally, he hadn't talked to his family much. A few hasty phone conversations, that was all. He didn’t expect _that_ would last much longer, either, which meant Tony would be getting smacked with the gauntlet of the entire Barnes clan. 

Tony chuckled. “Don’t want to let her find out from the society sites in the morning? Sure, we can do that.”

Bucky ended up taking a whole handful of pictures, including one that he timed perfectly for Tony opening a bottle of frothing champagne.

Becca’s returning text had been a simple smiley, which moved Bucky more than any long chat or excited squealing. _I’m happy for you._

The limo ride had been comfortable -- _what did you expect, idiot? It’s a limo!_ \-- not only the inside of the vehicle, but the general chatter. Bucky had talked about another database issue, and Tony had made a suggestion that might actually help, enough so that Bucky texted his co-worker who was on call that night, Sitwell, and ran it down for him.

They talked about the kids, and about Pepper’s long involved rant about her mother-in-law, who still hadn’t actually died yet, and now it was starting to look like she was going to pull through. Pepper had _extremely_ mixed feelings about that.

“She’s actually starting to wonder if the whole thing was staged, just a way to get May down there for more hassling, since they’d refused to go down for a couple of years,” Tony said. “But we’ll see. We may wind up with another extended babysitting job in a month or two.”

The limo pulled up in front of the club, and even before it had actually come to a halt, the vehicle was swarmed with people holding cameras and cell phones. Tony rolled his eyes. “One stroll through the jungle, and then we’re inside.” He squeezed Bucky’s hand. “Okay?”

Bucky eyed the crowd. “They won’t be expecting for me to give more than the little soundbyte, right?” Because Pepper had said this would happen, and she’d prepped a short statement for him. It wasn’t much, a quick self-introduction, a note about Tony, and a wish for a happy New Year. Probably he could manage that much.

“Nah. I mean, some of them will _try_ , but all you have to do is give your statement, then pretend you can’t hear anything else.”

Bucky took a bracing breath. _I’ve been questioned by two star generals, I can handle this_ , he thought. “Let’s do it.”

Tony pasted on a smile that wasn’t _quite_ right, somehow, and tapped on the window, signaling the driver to open the door for them. He slid out first, taking the wave of flashes and shouting in stride, waving carelessly before he turned to offer Bucky his hand, and a quick, reassuring wink.

“Wow, little black spots all in front of my eyes, thanks guys,” Bucky said, blinking rapidly to clear his vision.

“Why don’t you introduce us to your date, Mr. Stark?” someone asked from the front, a smiling blond whose expression was even less sincere than Tony’s.

“Delighted to,” Tony said. “This is Bucky Barnes, the man who taught me the true meaning of Christmas.”

Bucky snorted, nudging Tony in the back with his elbow. “Behave,” he murmured. 

“And how did you manage that, Mr. Barnes?” the woman asked, shoving a microphone in his face. Bucky flexed his arm, which made a whirring noise, and then fed interference into her mic. He'd known that was going to be useful, some day.

“Three ghosts of Christmas, past, present, and future,” Bucky said. “Ain’t none of ‘em got anything on _me_.”

Tony laughed. “And you want _me_ to behave?”

“No, not really,” Bucky admitted. There were more questions, but Bucky took Tony’s advice and pretended like he couldn’t hear them. The mass of press did not actually block their way, and with some deft turning and weaving, they managed to make the doors.

Music, people, dancing. A swirl of color, smells, and sound drifted out the door. The food tables practically groaned under their burdens. There were ice sculptures dotted here and there, melting softly in the room’s heat.

Bucky allowed himself to look around, and was astonished to see a couple of people he recognized. Not friends, mind, but _people_. 

Holy shit, that was Robert Redford.

Tony’s hand on his elbow was all that kept Bucky from walking into the wall.

“Come on, let’s get you a drink,” Tony said, sounding amused. “We’ll make the rounds, maybe do some dancing, hm?”

“Perfect,” Bucky said. He’d always liked dancing. And he let Tony pull him further into the glittering crowd, making small talk with the people Tony introduced him to, and basking in the sunlight that was Tony’s presence. 

Tony was carefully attentive, too, making sure Bucky wasn’t out of his depth or left floundering. Tony ducked in and out of conversations, drawing Bucky into a story and then subtly nudging him to take the lead. _Showing him off_ , Bucky realized after a little while. Letting everyone see how proud Tony was to have Bucky at his side.

That was a heady feeling, knowing that Tony found value in his company, and that there was, in fact, value in his company.

More than oldest of seven, one in a bunch of Barneses. By the time Bucky’d had his second drink, taken a turn with Tony, told a half dozen stories, listened with fascination to the gossip that Tony’s friends were willing to share, Bucky felt confident enough to dance casually with two other people, claim Tony again for a later dance, and then--

Tony was hugging a good looking, lanky man with a beak of a nose, laughing the whole time. There was something of genuine fondness there, and Bucky found himself gravitating back to Tony, a wayward planet looking for his center of gravity.

Tony brightened when he saw Bucky approaching, but didn’t let go of the other man’s arm. “Bucky! Come and meet my platypus!” He was happier than Bucky had seen him all night, nearly, almost vibrating with excitement. “Bucky, Rhodey. Rhodey and I have been friends since college,” he told Bucky, reaching out with his free hand to twine his fingers with Bucky’s.

“Nice to meet you,” Bucky said, “Tony’s mentioned you in a few of his more science-accident-involved stories.” Not that there had been that many -- but it did seem almost whenever Tony mentioned something blowing up, he also mentioned Rhodey.

Rhodey fixed Tony with a look that was trying to be stern, but was entirely too fond to fool anyone. “You didn’t tell him about the thing at Spring Break, with the--”

Tony held up his hands. “My lips are sealed,” he promised.

Rhodey snorted disbelievingly and then offered Bucky his hand. “I hear I have you to think for this one finally admitting maybe Christmas isn’t a scourge on humanity.”

“I think the kids did most of the actual convincing,” Bucky said. “He just needed a _reason_ for the Season. And someone who’d done it before, _the right way_.”

Rhodey pouted at Tony. “I couldn’t do that for you, man? That hurts. That’s cold.”

“Timing,” Tony said firmly. “Timing had a lot to do with it, too.”

Rhodey sniffed, but his eyes were twinkling. “So maybe next year, you’ll come down to spend a couple of days with my family. Mama misses you. And you’d like Lila. You can even bring Bucky along, if y’all are still an item, then.”

“We’ll see,” Tony said, but he was smiling.

Well, that was a thought. Bucky hadn’t really put a lot of effort into imagining what might happen, he was too busy with what _was happening_. But long term-- he admitted that he hadn’t given that much consideration yet. It’d be jinxing the whole thing. 

“Eh, you owe him a Christmas visit, after that stunt you two pulled with the chem department’s desk,” Bucky said, and gave Rhodey a wink. Now that, that had been an amazingly tall tale.

“Yes,” Rhodey said immediately. “Yes, you do. You _owe_ me, Tones, listen to the man.”

“You _turned on me?_ ” Tony asked Bucky, mouth hanging open in some approximation of betrayal and horror. “How could you?”

“I’m sucking up to your friends,” Bucky pointed out. “You’ll forgive me.”

“This one is smart,” Rhodey told Tony. “Hold onto him.”

“Well, that’s the plan,” Tony said mildly.

Bucky liked being part of Tony’s plans, he decided. There was a warm glow to it, of being included, of being appreciated, and of enjoying the company.

“Well, if I’m very, very lucky,” Bucky said, “he won’t figure out how weird I am until it’s too late and he’s already invested.” Bucky was pretty sure that he was _invested_ in Tony. Tony needed someone in his life, practical and down to earth, and Bucky had never been able to resist being necessary. It could work.

“Nah,” Rhodey said. “Boy _likes_ weird. You’re in.” He winked and clapped Tony on the arm. “We’ll have drinks soon, yeah? And you can tell me all about your Christmas miracle.”

“It wasn’t so much a Christmas miracle,” Bucky said, eyeing Tony, “but rather, a Christmas unicorn.”

Tony laughed. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Sounds about right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap on what is the fluffiest thing we have _ever_ written. We hope you enjoyed it and that it got your own holiday spirits up!
> 
> We are going to take some time off to spend some time with our families (and also cram in our last minute holiday shopping/wrapping/baking), and then we'll be back to our usual schedule of one story on Tuesday/Thursday, and a different story on Sundays.
> 
> On Christmas Eve, we'll launch _Bucky Barnes Got Married_ , which is another story inspired by the HEAMarvel Holiday Movie Challenge (which is the new name for the Hallmark Holiday Prompt Challenge, [because of reasons](https://heamarvel.tumblr.com/post/189687340861)). And then that Sunday (the 29th), we'll kick off our post-apocalypse/Mad-Max-style story with warlord!Bucky and cyberconcubine!Tony (that we... still need to think of an actual title for).


End file.
